3003 revised
by gilthas
Summary: The year is 3003. Harry Potter's name, and even magic itself, has passed into legend. When decedents of the last Death Eaters bring back the Dark Lord himself, Harry Potter alone can stop him, but Harry's not all that keen on being woken up... Revised ed.
1. Chapter 1: Grave Decisions

Okay. Here's what going on. I haven't written fan fiction in a VERY long time. Years, in fact. Like four. On a whim, I went back and looked at some of my old stuff.

I nearly vomited. Is there really a bunch of crap floating around the internet with my name on it? I'll be honest with you, the writing is terrible. I couldn't finish a single chapter, let alone rereading the whole story.

I can do better. So I am. And because I didn't read the whole story, this version is going to be quite a lot different than the last. It will be a little more mature, I hope.

I'm posting this as an experiment. I'm not sure about doing this whole "writing fanfics" thing again. I'd mostly be writing for readers, since I feel a sort of obligation towards them. I read fan fiction all the time when I was younger and it really inspired me to write my own things.

So if you like, if you approve, tell me. Depending on the number of reviews, I may or may not finish this.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Grave Decisions

_Damn _it was cold. Why was it always so cold?

Lanny Rupert rubbed his hands together and blew into them. Bloody cemetery. No one came in during the day. Certainly not the night. Yet here he was, guarding the bloody graves.

Lanny stamped his feet and blew on his hands again. He was so concerned with his frigid fingers that he almost missed the four figures walking by his little security hut.

He was almost relieved to see signs of life after three hours in the pitch black, moonless night. This sentiment was quickly retracted however upon seeing what the individuals in question were hooded and wearing—Lanny did a double take—some sort of black robes.

He watched them for a moment suspiciously. Probably just a bunch of kids out for a scare. Still, most of them looked pretty tall and he would bet money that no group of kids could be that silent.

He grabbed night vision glasses just in case and followed them, keeping behind, but within earshot.

Lanny crouched low, squinting through the darkness. Three more figures appeared. They made no greeting to the four figures that Lanny was following but they were clearly together. All of them were wearing those ludicrous robes.

They came to an abrupt stop in front of one of the graves and began to encircle it. Lanny dove behind a grave to prevent his discovery. He hit his hip a little too hard against the unforgiving ground, a painful reminder that he was nowhere near as young as he used to be.

"Beautiful night," said a deep voice from the circle of figures. It was certainly not a teenage voice.

"Agreed," said another voice, this one female.

The first figure spoke again. "Don't you think so, Mr. Rupert?"

Lanny froze. Clearly he hadn't been as quiet as he'd thought. There was nothing for it.

"Indeed," he said loudly, standing up. His old knees protested. "I thought I might ask you what you what you're doing in this cemetery in the middle of the night."

"You're a Mudblood, is that not correct, Mr. Rupert?" said the female voice.

"Eh? What's that you said?"

"You're parents. They, and thus you, are descended from Muggles."

"Some of the last," Lanny said proudly. "What's that to you?"

There was a brief silence before the first voice spoke out again. "Everything, Mr. Rupert."

The figure with the female voice reached into her robes and withdrew what appeared to be some sort of necklace. She held it by the chain and Lanny saw that some sort of ornament hung from it—silver with a gleaming "S" carved into the front.

"Tonight is no random night, Mr. Rupert," she said. She tossed the necklace onto the grave. As if on cue, the other six figures reached into their own robes and withdrew other items. Lanny could find no pattern in the items they had. One appeared to be shards from some sort of china. There was also a long, wicked fang that must have come from a very large animal, a small black book with a hole sizzled through it, another was a piece of very thin jewelry that appeared to be some sort of bracelet, or maybe a very thin crown. There also appeared to be a ring, split into two pieces. On very top was a long thin wand.

"Tonight, Mr. Rupert," said the woman. "Is the very night, almost 1000 years ago, that the greatest dark lord of all time fell from his holy pedestal."

Lanny was beginning to feel nervous about this. Knowing his friends would probably make fun of him latter for being scared of a couple people and their junk, he straightened himself up and spoke with as much authority as he could muster.

"As you all know, the city reserves the right to deny access to any public place from any individual or individuals that appear to be using said space for illegal or immoral purposes, to be decided 

at the time by the judgment of the leading authority figure." He had had to memorize this law as part of his training. "I have decided that your purposes here are contrary to the interests of the state and I ask that you leave immediately. You will be escorted from the premises by the closest authority figure. In this case, that figure is myself. Please gather your belongings and follow me towards the exit."

A figure that had not spoken pulled forth from within the folds of his cloak a dagger. It was a wicked blade, with a deep black, curved handle that blended so perfectly with the night that Lanny only knew it was there because the figure's hand disappeared behind it. The blade itself was clean, bright silver that seemed to glow in the moonlight.

Lanny drew his gun. "Drop your weapon!"

_Holy Shit! _He thought desperately. _I'm a bloody night watchman! I'm not trained to deal with this!_

The figure did not drop his weapon and did not approach Lanny. The woman spoke again.

"Mr. Rupert, would you be so kind as to stand on top of this grave?"

"I most certainly will _not,_" Lanny said. "Tell your friend to drop his weapon. You're all to leave the park immediately."

"Now, now, Mr. Rupert," said the woman softly. "We're all friends here." She drew a wand out of her pocket and pointed it at him.

Lanny did not drop his gun. What was she going to do? Shoot water at him? Give him a bouquet of flowers? Wands weren't weapons.

"_Imperio,_" the woman whispered.

Lanny Rupert's face slacked.

"Drop your weapon, Mr. Rupert," said the woman calmly.

The gun fell to the ground.

"Now please move onto the grave."

He did so. His arms were at his side, his face blank.

The knife flashed.

"Lord of Darkness," the woman whispered. Blood oozed into the soft ground. "Lord of Magic. Lord of Death. A thousand years you have waited beneath the earth. Your servants have waited, too. Tonight the last of the missing pieces have been returned to you. Tonight you will rise and the sun will die."


	2. Chapter 2: Rebirth by Fire

A/N: Thanks to all that reviewed! 8 reviews weren't as many as I'd hoped for, but I got pretty near 200 hits, so I am hoping that someone's reading this. Oh well. :)

This chapter has always been a personal favorite of mine. Enjoy!

--Gil

Chapter 2: Rebirth by Fire

"Now, if you'll all scroll down to page fifty-three, you'll see a video of a CG reproduction of the Battle of Silver Creek. We're almost out of time, so I expect everyone to watch this over the weekend and write a three page report over the tactics used in this battle that differed from the previous battles. You can just E-mail those to me and I'll also send everyone a link to a less pixilated version of that reproduction that you can watch in 3D in the library."

The bell rang. Grander dismissed everyone with a wave of his hand as the scramble to collect books created more noise than his voice. Seeing no students waiting to talk to him, he arranged his own papers neatly into a stack and placed his books back on the shelf in their proper alphabetical order. Then, grabbing his briefcase and a ham sandwich that he had placed in his desk drawer, he headed towards the school grounds. He preferred the quiet for his lunch hours, rather than the bustle of the crowded dining hall.

Sometimes he thought it would have been better not to work at a boarding school. Then he would at least get some semblance of a break from the academic struggles of his students. But here, not only was his research paid for, it was a virtual mine of old and lost information. He sighed as the lake came into view, sparkling up at the cloudless sky. Plus, the view was fantastic.

He swung his briefcase idly in one hand as he made his way towards the lake. He hesitated for a moment when he saw some of the students splashing about in the water, then decided to turn his feet in the direction of the cemetery. Let his students call him morbid if they wanted. At least it was quiet.

The cemetery had been there since before anyone could remember, long before any of the records up at the school. It was an honor to be buried there and Grander liked to sit near the tombs of the old and ancient heroes. History had always been his one great love.

He was just unwrapping his sandwich and thinking about what a beautiful day it was when he heard a low, rasping voice coming from somewhere nearby. He frowned, displeased that his solitude had been disturbed.

But there was nothing to be done. The cemetery belonged to the school, not him. He sighed to himself, slid his long jacket off his shoulders and folded it neatly onto the bench beside him.

A raindrop hit him square on the nose.

Grander froze. Rain? But that was impossible. Surly the sprinklers had been turned on…but no. Sure as the grass was green, there were storm clouds in the sky! No, not in the sky in general. Over the cemetery. _Just_ over the cemetery.

The rasping voice nearby had not stopped its speaking. Fearing that it was a student caught in this unnatural rainstorm, Grander made his way towards it, shouting to be heard over what was fast becoming a gale.

"Excuse me! We've got to go inside!"

Grander squinted through the rain. Futilely, he remembered his briefcase and held it over his already sopping head. The speaker had his back to Grander and was wearing what appeared to be a black robe. Grander blinked, sure his eyes were deceiving him. He had never seen anything quite so ridiculous looking in all his life.

The figure did not turn around at Grander's words. Miffed, Grander moved closer. Perhaps the boy had not heard him correctly. "We've got to get out of this rain!" he tried again. "I can't explain it either, but there's no sense staying in it. Come, I'll show you the way out."

The boy raised his hands into the air and yelled something that Grander did not understand. Lightning crackled from the sky directly in front of him. Grander screamed (not unmasculinely) and fell back, shocked and shaken. Fire erupted from the place the lightning had hit.

Finally the boy turned around and Grander saw that it was not a boy at all but a man, probably in his mid-thirties. Grander had never seen him before in his life. He was laughing, his whole body silhouetted by the hungry flames.

"He's coming," He hissed at Grander in his rasping voice. "He is coming and your world, you're precious world will _burn._"

"Now see here—" Grander started, hoping his voice did not betray his fear as the fire behind the man glowed white.

The man did not appear to be listening. Nor did he seem overly concerned about the fire. Calmly and casually, he pulled out a perfectly ordinary pocket watch. With a glance at the watch and a glance at Grander, the man said, "Three…two…one…"

He vanished.

The flames in the cemetery were growing hotter and the rain, unfortunately, seemed to be subsiding. Grander's eyes, however, worked fine and with the man gone and his view unhindered, he saw quite clearly that the fire was in a pit of some sort.

No. A grave.

The fire was getting hotter. Grander knew that he should run, but his pain at seeing a historical monument so brutally burned caused him to glance quickly at the name embossed on the ancient tombstone.

It couldn't be. Surely this cemetery wasn't _that _old…

Grander couldn't take the heat. Grabbing his briefcase, he ran from the cemetery, his shirt held over his nose. Help. He needed help. Now.

Hot. _Hot._

Harry became suddenly and quite intensely aware of how very hot everything was. Surely it hadn't been quite so hot a second before.

Where was he? He felt groggy, disoriented. Distantly he felt as though something was very wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

And _God _it was hot.

He tried to open his eyes and they felt stiff. How long had he been sleeping? Why hadn't Ginny awoken him? Surely there was something that needed done today that needed more attention than sleeping.

His eyelids pulled themselves apart.

He was in the ground. Quite deep in the ground, actually. Very, very deep in the ground. At least six feet.

How on earth had he gotten here? Why was he having such trouble getting his bearings? He must be getting old.

The heat was getting to be too much for him. He forced himself to sit up. His muscles protested and ached as though he'd been sleeping for centuries. Why hadn't someone woken him up?

He froze. Not only was he in a big hole in the ground, he also happened to be very, very naked. He couldn't see well without his glasses, but he seemed to be covered in mud.

_There is probably a very funny story behind all of this, _Harry thought grumpily. _I do hope Ginny will have the decency to clue me in._

Harry forced himself to get his bearings. He was in some kind of hole. Naked. And unless his eyesight was far worse than he thought, the world also happened to be on fire. Oddly, he could no longer feel any heat.

_He _was not on fire at least. He was simply covered in very dark mud. No, not mud, Harry realized with a jolt that shook him to his very core. Ashes. He was covered in ashes.

A big hole in the ground. Covered in ashes. Someone was playing a very sick joke. Harry's stomach contracted painfully the way stomachs do when they know something that you don't. His fingers clawed at the ashes on his skin, desperate to get them off.

His skin. Harry's poor old heart received another jolt as he realized that this body wasn't even his! It was young. It wasn't the old form that he had gone to sleep in.

Where was he? What was going on? Where was Ginny?

He put his hands beside him to help himself up and felt his wand, warm and glowing in his fingers. He clutched it like a thirsty man to water.

And speaking of water…

Harry didn't know where he was, what was going on, why he was naked, and who had started this obscenely large fire. But he did know one thing—he was the one who was going to put it out.

Raising his wand into the air, Harry yelled, "_Augumenta!" _

Water burst into the air in waves.

Grander was practically in tears. The teachers had found every fire extinguisher in the castle and it was having little to no effect on the searing flames. The fire practically ate the foam from the extinguishers, as though some sort of power beyond the obvious was helping it move.

And it was consuming Grander's cemetery.

That cemetery had stood on that spot for centuries. Over a hundred of the greatest heroes of the ages were buried within that cemetery. Even, Grander scarcely dared to believe it, Harry Potter. Grander mentally cursed whatever God had let him see that ancient gravestone at last, only to take it away from him at the very moment it was discovered.

And now the fire was going to consume the castle. They needed more than fire extinguishers. They needed a miracle.

As though God was having mercy on Grander's bleeding soul, an impossible amount of water gushed from the very center of the flames.

This time, Grander actually did cry. In relief.

"What's going on?"

"A hydrant must have broken or something!"

"Thank God!"

Whatever had caused it, the water did its work within a matter of moments. The flames were extinguished so suddenly that steam filled the air, causing everything the cemetery to be concealed in its billowing waves.

Vaguely Grander heard the teachers around him ushering students back up to the castle. He couldn't move. His eyes searched hungrily for landmarks within the vapors. There stood the twisted remains of the cherry blossom tree that had been in full bloom moments earlier. There was the clearly melted statue of Gonren the Gregarious. There was—

Grander climbed wildly to his feet. A movement! A movement within the steam. He stumbled towards the smoking ruins, yelling.

"Someone in the cemetery!"

The figure was walking stiffly, hunched. Probably from breathing in the smoke. How they had survived such an inferno, Grander had no idea. His first thought was that it was that same man who had started the fire, back again for God knew why, but he saw quickly that this figure was not the same build. He did not carry himself the same way.

Grander was inside the cemetery now. Sweat dripped down his ash-stained face and he squinted to keep his eyesight clear. He had to find the person trapped inside. He called out loudly, hoping to draw the person to him with his voice. Instead he swallowed a mouthful of ash and steam.

He was just coughing horribly and thinking that maybe entering a smoking cemetery wasn't such a good idea when he felt a strong breeze blow its way through the cemetery, clearing the air and Grander's lungs.

His eyes watering now to clear out the smoke, Grander looked up to find the figure he sought standing directly in front of him.

"Where am I?" said a voice. It couldn't have been more than 18. A student then. Grander couldn't believe that a student had been trapped in the flames and survived.

Gently he reached out to the boy, grabbing his shoulder and pulling his gently but firmly towards the exit. The jacket beneath his fingers was very hot. Grander wondered fleetingly how the boy managed to still be wearing it. "You're safe now, that's all. Please, we have to get out of here before the wind goes away and the smoke comes back."

"It won't," said the boy assuredly, but he moved obligingly towards the exit. Grander realized that the boy was wearing Grander's own jacket, which he had removed and put on the bench before the fire had started. It was long and went to the back of the boy's knees.

The boy himself was covered in soot. The backs of his arms appeared to be smudged and Granger saw unburned skin underneath it. This surprised him slightly, but he knew the boy must be burned somewhere under the soot. His hair was unsinged, but looked as though an electrical current had been shot through it. It stuck out in every direction.

They reached the gate and one of the female professors pulled the boy from Grander's arms and gently began to pull him towards the castle. Grander resisted initially, but forced himself turn his attention to the Headmaster, who was waiting near him, her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead.

"Who was it?"

"I didn't recognize him."

The Headmaster frowned at his words but didn't comment. "Did you see the hydrant?"

Grander shook his head. He hadn't really been looking for it, but he noticed that whatever had caused the water had already stopped. Even the steam was beginning to dissipate in the wind, leaving a blackened and ruined graveyard in its wake. Grander forced himself to look away.

"Then what was it that caused all that water?" Headmaster Chiden asked, squinting into the steam.

"Well, I did, of course," said a voice. Grander and the Headmaster turned to see the boy that Grander had rescued from the flames coming towards them, a look of annoyance on his face as he absentmindedly waved away the attention of the professor behind him. He squinted at them with bright green eyes that made a startling contrast to his still blackened face. "And if it's not too much to ask, I would greatly appreciate being told _exactly_ what I'm doing in the middle of a raging inferno."

A/N: Just a quick note. I've decided to do a lot more with technology than I did in the original. I decided that if I was going to rewrite this, I was genuinely going to have to create another world, complete with a different culture and everything. Because of this, I decided to give the title of Headmaster to the female Headmistress. This will be explained later, but I didn't want an influx of reviews telling me that I made a typo. :)

On another note, I'm having trouble deciding what the new school uniforms are going to look like. Suggestions?

--Gil


	3. Chapter 3: Challenges

Chapter 3: Challenges

Voldemort's long thin fingers closed onto the end of his wand. He felt it warm to his hand, pleased to be rejoined with its master.

His red eyes took in the pitiful group before him. The remains of his faithful.

What other wizard had followers 1000 years after his supposed death? Voldemort pondered this questioning absently. He should be pleased.

He was not.

One thousand years was a long time. A very long time, indeed, to be sleeping, rotting under the earth. It seemed his followers had a lot to learn about timeliness.

A lot had changed in one thousand years.

And that pleased Voldemort immensely.

"You there."

The man in question nearly fell over himself to be at his master's side.

"Where is Harry Potter?"

"At Hogwarts, master," he said, desperate to please.

"Dead, I'm assuming."

"Of course!"

"Then I want you to destroy his body."

"How?"

Voldemort was silent for a moment, letting the man realize the foolishness of questioning his master. When he spoke again his voice was deadly soft.

"You shall burn it." He turned to face the man and locked eyes. He riffled quickly through the man's memories and suppressed a sigh. The man new precious little magic.

Voldemort opened the man's mind, forcing a fragment of his own knowledge on the man. He needed to make sure this job was done properly.

The man screamed in terror and pain. Voldemort hesitated. The man would still be unable to complete the spell. With a sigh, he infused the man with some of his own magic, just enough to ensure the Potter boy burned.

The man disapperated.

Voldemort turned to regard the village that squished comfortably beside the graveyard. He put a thoughtful finger to his chin. Before he would have proceeded with caution. Before it would have been imperative to mass together his forces, infiltrate networks, know certain weaknesses…

Now, he had no such qualms. There was simply no need of any sort of covert operation. There was no way they could stop him doing exactly what he wanted to do.

In a way this displeased him. There were little to no Muggles to slaughter, though from the state of the wizarding community, there also seemed to be little in the way of magic on this forsaken planet. Where was the challenge?

Voldemort decided abruptly that he would worry about such things later. His red eyes gazed upon the little village. The sun was just beginning to rise and the first stirrings of life were beginning to take place.

Tiny people with their tiny, insignificant lives.

Yes, Voldemort decided. It really had been such a _long _time since he'd really been able to stretch his legs.

Harold Crocker, Minister of Magic, leaned back in his comfortable chair and closed his eyes. In the room around him, people were chatting comfortably, waiting for the meeting to start.

Crocker was in no hurry. He had already reviewed the agenda and nothing of serious importance was mentioned. Just more squabbles about funding.

Hence his procrastination.

He poked open an eye and saw all the seats filled but one. He frowned. Meridel was normally right on time. He sighed and sat up, opening both eyes and surveying the room. It quieted under his gaze.

"The first order of business is a report from the Education Adviser," he said. Crocker nodded to the adviser in question.

The man, Waltman, straightened the paper in front of him.

"All schools are reporting back normal results," Waltman said in his dry voice. "Testing was administered yesterday and in a month the third year students will be sorted into their different majors. On a non-academic note, there was a fire on the campus of..." he squinted at the page. "...Hogwarts. A private boarding school in the north. The cause is still unknown. Two people were near the flames when the first started a teacher and..." he frowned again. Crocker was beginning to suspect that the man hadn't prepared his report.

"An unknown individual. Believed to be around 17 or 18 years in age and not a student. He was admitted to the infirmary with a high fever."

Waltman blinked as he reached the end of his report and looked up. Crocker nodded at him and he sat down.

"Keep us posted," Crocker said. "Next we'll hear from--"

"Me, I'm afraid," said a brisk voice. Meridel had entered at last and she did not look pleased. On the contrary, her hair stood out strangely. She must have run her fingers through it dozens of times, a nervous habit of hers.

"Meridel?" Crocker said, rising slightly from his seat.

"We've got a problem." She said, tossing a stack of papers in front of him. A strange apparition, like a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth glared up at him, horribly lifelike.

His eyes rose to meet Meridel's. "It's a big one," she said softly.


	4. Chapter 4: Realizations

A/N: I'm particularly fond of asterisks as story breaks (switching from one point of view to another), but I've found that no matter what I do on fanfiction, the asterisks never show up in the final story. In this chapter there's a lot of switching back and forth, so I just wrote STORY BREAK instead of my prefered way.

Also, many may notice that Harry talks quite formally in this chapter. I felt like language would have evolved quite a lot in 1000 years, but with computers and dictionaries, I didn't feel like it would have evolved past the point of comprehension (and having to learn a new language is hard on a writer). Thus, I tried to write Harry's language as a little more formal (he's got the mind of a much older person, after all) and he's described as accented. This is my attempt to show the evolution of the language.

Also, this chapter is very different than my original 3003.

Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Realizations

Harry felt someone grab his shoulders gently from behind and a shock as a freezing hand felt his soot-covered forehead.

"Jesus!" The hand jerked away. It was the same woman who had pulled him away at the gate of the cemetery. "He's like trying to touch hot coals!"

"I'm _not_," Harry said. He jerked away and he noticed his arm again. It was blackened with ash, but underneath he could see smooth, unwrinkled skin. His eyes held the image of his arm and he barely noticed when the same woman turned him back towards the castle.

"Or maybe I am," he whispered. He held his hands in front of his eyes, his feet walking automatically. Cautiously, his hand shaking, he touched his face.

His hand jerked away from the supple skin. He started breathing very quickly. He felt his strong heart beating inside him and he touched his chest, his arms, his neck. He didn't know what was happening. Vaguely he felt the woman beside him press him forward with more haste.

Where was she taking him? His eyes jerked forward, his hands still clutching his neck. Slowly his fear receded. He was at Hogwarts. This was Hogwarts Castle. Whatever else might be happening to him, at least he was there. His hands fell to his sides.

They reached the large oak doors. The woman pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked it manually. They pushed the great doors open and Harry saw the Entrance Hall flooded with people.

He had never realized how many people the Entrance Hall could contain, but they were everywhere. Students of all shapes and sizes were standing around, peering over the heads of others to get a look at him. They squished against each other to make a path to the stairs.

Whispers broke out like wildfire.

Some things never changed.

"Now don't you listen to them, dear," said the woman kindly in his ear. "They're just curious."

Harry didn't respond. _They _were curious? _He _was inches from a total emotional breakdown.

The woman he was with pulled out some sort of small machine and said the words, "Wanda."

A ringing noise came from the machine and somewhere in the recesses of Harry's memory the word 'cell phone' dragged itself forth. A moment later another woman's voice appeared on the other end.

"Was there anyone hurt?"

The woman with Harry began talking very rapidly into the phone, but Harry loss interest in her almost at once. He seemed to have a very hard time concentrating on any one thing. It was very disorientating.

The students never stopped appearing. Harry had never seen so many people in his entire life. There was at least a thousand of them, all trying to get a look at his face and gawking before moving quickly by.

None of them were in robes, but they all appeared to be wearing some kind of uniform. Harry saw snakes and badgers looking back at him from the front of shirts, but oddly, along with the normal four houses, there were also so insignias—Harry squinted without his glasses—bearing what appeared to be phoenixes.

And the air around him was freezing. He pulled the jacket tighter around him as his shock gave way and his normal bodily functions resumed themselves. He wondered how the woman next to him was wearing short sleeves. He could see his breath.

They reached the Hospital Wing and the woman pushed the door open. Harry froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"This isn't the Hospital Wing," Harry said vaguely. They had walked through the door that was supposed to lead to the infirmary, but instead led to a hallway with doors on both sides. Everything was white, including the walls and the floors.

The woman opened the closest door and led him inside. She hit a button on the wall. Something buzzed.

"Wanda, here!" said the woman urgently.

A woman, Wanda, came hurrying out of the nearest door. She took one look at Harry and turned white.

"Here, here, quickly!" she said moving out of the way of the door. She stopped Harry at the door and put a hand to his forehead. Immediately she jerked it away, looking at Harry in blatant shock. Harry could see that her hand looked very red where she had touched him. Her hand had left its own invisible mark on Harry's forehead. The cold from it seemed to permeate his being. He was freezing. He felt his teeth begin to chatter.

She looked very distraught, Harry thought vaguely. His mind seemed to be shutting off. It simply couldn't take in anything more.

_I'm far too old for this. _The thought floated on the outside of Harry's mind. He forced himself to pay attention to his surroundings.

_If I had my glasses all this would be easy, _he thought grumpily. It was very difficult to squint at everything.

Wanda had prepared some sort of bath. It was in a white porcelain tub.

Harry distantly remembered it being very cold, but he seemed to be getting warmer now. And rather sleepy. He felt his eyes closing.

"We're losing him," Wanda's voice said. "Get him in the tub."

Clothes and all, the two women maneuvered a rather tired Harry into the tub of water.

It was so cold that it hurt. Worse, it scalded. Harry jerked violently and steam began to rise from where the water touched his skin. Harry yelled and tried to get out of the tub. Wanda and the other woman held him down.

The cold seared through him like flames and Harry felt his head roll back. His back arched, trying to keep the water off of him. He couldn't understand for the life of him why he should be in so much pain, but the water felt like dry ice, beating at every inch of him, sucking the very life from his body.

"More water!" said a voice somewhere in the distance. "And get that coat off of him! If we don't get him cooled off the fever will kill him!"

Harry struggled as he felt strong hands pull at the jacket he had found. He fought them off desperately, trying to maintain his one line of defense between him and the water, but his strength was waning.

He was sweating and freezing at the same time. He felt his preparation evaporate from his forehead the moment it formed.

The jacket was gone. Harry screamed as another bucket of the ice water was poured over his head. The agony was beyond description. Harry could no longer see through the pain. His body was on fire…

The tub exploded. Pieces of porcelain scattered through the room and water hit the walls on all sides. The two women were thrown backwards, leaving Harry by himself in the middle of the room.

For a moment he sat there, steam surrounding him along with the broken bits of the ruined tub. Then, very carefully, Harry managed to get to his feet.

The women appeared to have been incapacitated by the unexpected blow. Harry could barely see them. The steam muddled his already blurry vision. His eyes scanned the floor until they found the coat. He lifted it from the floor and put it back on. His hands closed around the wand in the pocket.

"That," said Harry, his teeth chattering. "Will be quite enough of that." He wrapped the coat more firmly around him. With a wave of his wand, the room cleared. With another wave, he conjured glasses. Relieved, he put them to his face.

For the first time since he'd found himself in that fire, the world came into focus.

Immediately he felt bad about what he'd done. The two women looked thoroughly dazed. One was blinking and putting a hand to her temple. The other was shaking her head as though to clear it.

Harry felt that diplomacy was in order.

"Thank you," Harry said calmly. He actually did feel better. The searing cold that had been present during the trip to the Hospital Wing was gone. "I believe I am well now. I will be requiring a very hot bath to rinse off what remains of this ash and perhaps a little food. I am quite hungry."

Wanda (Harry thought it was Wanda) rose unsteadily to her feet. She was looking at Harry in disbelief. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head.

"You're not the one who decides that," she said firmly. "Now come here. I'll send Kertrish to get you some food, but the bath comes after the examination. You gave me too big of a scare when you first arrived to get off the hook just because the tub exploded." She nodded at the other woman, Kertrish.

Kertrish seemed to come to as well and with a deep breath, left.

Harry submitted to the examination. Wanda felt his forehead and declared that he still had a fever, but that it seemed to be breaking. She then pulled out a tool that Harry had not seen in a very long time.

"Why that's a Muggle thermometer!" Harry said in surprise. "Why on earth do you have that at Hogwarts?"

The woman looked at him strangely but did not reply. Harry opened his mouth obediently and slid the thermometer under his tongue. Wanda then pulled out a Muggle blood pressure gauge.

Then Harry understood and everything made sense. Hogwarts had been overrun by _Muggles_! No wonder they hadn't been able to explain how he'd put the fire out! He wanted to laugh with relief. At least he had finally found an explanation for some of the madness.

He sobered quickly. How had this happened? It simply didn't seem possible. Surely someone would have noticed if Muggles moved in.

"I need to speak to my wife at once," Harry said when the doctor removed the thermometer. "Ginny Potter. Do you know where I can find her?"

Wanda laughed but didn't respond.

Harry frowned, then looked down at his hands. They were so much younger than he remembered. "You believe I'm too young to be married," he said with a sigh. "Well, I assure you, this is not the case. I need to speak to my wife."

"It's not that," Wanda said absentmindedly, jotting down Harry's blood pressure on a chart. "I just didn't think you were serious about the name."

"My name?"

"'Ginny Potter,'" Wanda correctly. "That was Harry Potter's wife's name, wasn't it?"

Harry blinked. Clearly his first hypothesis had been inaccurate. There was no reason a Muggle should know who he was.

"You're a witch, then?" Harry asked politely.

"_Excuse _me," said Wanda, clearly insulted. "I am no such thing! Where did you learn such manners?"

"Sorry," said Harry quickly. "I didn't mean to insult you. It was a real question. Can you do magic?"

"Of course I can," she said, frowning. She very gently lifted Harry's arm and examined it. "I've answered your question, now you answer mine. How did you manage to get out of a raging fire without a single burn?"

Harry looked down at his hands and arms. She was correct. He was virtually unharmed. "I don't even know how I got in there," he admitted. "Once I realized what was happening, I put the fire out.

The woman frowned and put a hand to his forehead again. "That's not funny." She removed her hand and wrote something else on the chart. She looked faintly surprised. "Your fever seems to be going down quickly."

There was a knock at the door.

"Don't move," Wanda told him sternly. She opened the door. Harry caught a brief glance at a man that looked vaguely familiar before Wanda slipped out and closed the door behind her.

Harry perked up his ears, but they must have moved away because not even a whisper came through the door.

Harry sighed and looked down at himself again. This was ludicrous. Why on earth should he look the way he did? Where was Ginny? Where were Ron and Hermione? Where were James, Albus, and Lily? Surely they wouldn't leave their poor old father to sit and wonder?

Harry rubbed his face and took another deep breath. Then he stood up. No point sitting there wondering. His wand was in his hand again and a set of grey robes appeared. Listening for the door, he hastily put them on.

He was just attempting to straighten his hair when the door opened again.

STORY BREAK

Grander stopped abruptly. If he had suddenly been sucked into a parallel world filled with impossibilities and inconsistencies, he would have said that he just walked into a room containing Harry Potter himself.

He shook his head. He just had Harry Potter on the brain. First the grave, then the reference to Ginny Potter…Grander was just having a long day. This skinny, soot-covered boy in front of him could never be a hero of legend.

Wanda asked the boy something but Grander waved her away.

"Hello, son, I don't believe I've seen you around campus…" Grander paused. That was impossible. You couldn't be as old as this boy certainly was without taking a History of Magic class. He had probably offended the boy greatly.

"I don't believe so," said the boy politely. Grander held back a sigh of relief. The boy spoke with a peculiar accent. He was clearly foreign. An exchange student, perhaps?

"My name is Professor Grander," Grander continued. "I'm the one you met in the cemetery. What's your name?"

Oddly, the boy seemed to hesitate.

"That's not so incredibly important," he said. "But I would very much like to know how the graveyard came to be on fire."

Grander's suspicion rose. First the mysterious man who had disappeared in the graveyard, now this boy who wouldn't tell him his name? He decided to proceed with the utmost caution.

"I'm not entirely sure," he said. "Perhaps you can explain to me how you came to be there."

STORY BREAK

Harry knew at once that he had said the wrong thing. He cursed himself mentally. He should have just picked a name! Now this man probably thought that _he _had started the fire!

_Didn't you?_ Asked a little voice in his head. _How do you know how you got to be there?_

He shook his head to clear it. If he had done it, it had been anything but intentional.

"I don't entirely know how I arrived within the fire. I seem to have been taking a nap and been awoken by the flames. I put the flames out myself, then proceeded to look for the exit, which is where I ran into you."

STORY BREAK

Grander didn't believe him. Put the flames out himself? Not likely. Still, Grander knew exactly how the fire had been started and couldn't see how this boy could have been involved.

He needed more information.

"Where are you from?"

"Godric's Hollow."

"Indeed?" Grander himself had been to Godric's Hollow several times. They did not speak with this boy's accent. "Originally?"

The boy seemed to be considering this for a moment. "Originally, yes. However, I was raised by Muggles until I left for school."

Grander tried very hard to ignore it, but the similarities between what this boy was telling him and the life of Harry Potter were striking. Too striking. He took a step forward.

"Now listen here. It's obvious what stunt you're trying to pull, but I can't for the life of me understand why. Please answer the questions completely and honestly. There is no point in maintaining this charade."

The boy looked at him, calculating. Grander felt those emerald green eyes on him and immediately he was ten years old again, being stared at by his father for coming home with a black eye.

STORY BREAK

Harry considered this strange man. This Grander. What should he tell him? He didn't for the life of him understand this "charade" the man was referring to.

Should he tell him the truth?

Harry shrugged. What could it hurt?

"Fine. Yes. I am Harry Potter. Please find James and bring him here, immediately. He should be in staff quarters, unless he's changed his profession since I talked to him last."

Silence filled the room. Both were looking at him incredulously.

"Wanda, do you mind leaving us alone for a moment?" Grander asked politely.

Wanda left, never taking her eyes off of Harry's face.

"Now, you listen to me, _Harry,_" Grander said, his eyes sweeping Harry's forehead. He could see nothing under the soot. "A very old, very valuable cemetery has been burned to the _ground_. The fire burned tombstones, do you hear? _Tombstones._ The few that remain are little more than melted stone. There is no way that you were inside that fire and no way that you are Harry Potter."

The boy looked at him in disbelief. Grander had to hand it to him. He certainly _looked _like Harry Potter, though the ancient wizarding robes probably helped his case quite a lot. Grander wondered fleetingly where he'd gotten them.

"I understand the confusion," said the boy after taking a deep breath. "I know that I should be much older. I don't know what magic has transformed me, but I'm sure my son can explain it. If you will please just go and get him, this whole affair can be settled."

"I would be very happy to comply," said Grander carefully. He knew that he was catering to this boy's argument by responding, but he could see no other course of action. "But I'm afraid James Potter has been dead for years. Not just years, but around a thousand years. As has Harry Potter. I'm sure you'll understand why I'm slightly incredulous."

STORY BREAK

Harry stared at the man for a moment, his mind not comprehending. Then an explosion went off in his brain.

The obscene number of students.

The strange clothes.

The doctor's comment.

The incredulity.

The cemetery…

Harry felt sick. Physically sick. He had been in a cemetery. A bloody cemetery! At Hogwarts! Like he had requested to be _buried_!

This thought disturbed him to no end and he found that air was having a very difficult time reaching his lungs. He tried to pull more into his lungs but the more he pulled the less seemed to enter.

He felt his limbs weakening and he grabbed onto the bed for support.

"Wanda!" the man yelled.

Harry fell to the floor, retching, but nothing seemed to be in his stomach.

Of course not. It's not like he had _eaten._

He had _died..._

Harry's head was swimming and no air was getting to his lungs. Vaguely he felt hands on his arms, trying to pull him up.

He had been _buried… _

Blackness swirled on the edges of his vision and he clutched it to him like a dying man. Blackness. Let him sleep. Let him go.

For all of the life, love, hope, dreams, gods, angels, satans, devils…

Just let him die_._

END

A/N: Review!


	5. Chapter 5: Belief and Disbelief

A/N: Next chapter! And thanks to cram with the help on the 'x's.

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Chapter 5: Belief and Disbelief

Grander simply couldn't believe it. The boy had been unconscious for three days now. His mysterious appearance was all over school by this point and he was subjected to a new round of questions concerning him with every new class. He wished that he had something to tell them.

In the meantime, however, Wanda had started washing the soot off his body with a wet cloth.

Grander had requested that she do the face first.

"Like lightning," Wanda had whispered. "Burned into the skin. Who would _do _that?"

Grander had said nothing. The boy's reaction had shaken him greatly. He hadn't even begun to expect it. He had contacted the Headmaster at once and she had appointed him, Grander, in charge of determining the boy's origins.

Grander decided that the easiest way to accomplish this was by proving to the boy that he was _not _Harry Potter. Once the boy's cover was proven incorrect, he could then begin to glean more accurate information because the boy would be caught in his lie.

Finally Wanda informed him that the boy was regaining consciousness.

Grander was prepared to go directly in, but Wanda stopped him with a firm hand.

"You're not going to go in there and upset him again. I don't care if he's Harry Potter or Voldemort. I saw what happened last time I left you alone. I'm requesting 30 minutes to feed him and take his readings again. _Then _I'll allow you access, but only with me in the room. When I say enough is enough, you're to accept that and move to a different question. Understood?"

Grander frowned but nodded. It was an understandable precaution.

He sat in a chair by the door and couldn't stop himself from fidgeting.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry wished he was dead.

More than anything else he had ever wished, he wished that right now he was dead and buried in the ground.

Wanda, the nurse, entered. When she saw him watching her, she smiled.

"About time. You've been out for days."

Harry didn't respond. He wished he was still unconscious.

A smell wafted over to him. Harry didn't think he'd ever smelled anything quite so delicious in his entire life. His stomach growled hungrily, giving him away. Wanda smiled and placed a tray of soup in front of him. Then she helped him sit up.

Harry reached for the spoon and realized that his arm had a needle in it.

"You were starved half to death when you came in," Wanda explained, removing the needle and wiping the spot with an alcohol pad. "We had to get nutrients into you somehow."

The soup was warm and excellent. His stomach made noises of confusion when the hot liquid first hit, but it quickly seemed to get the hang of it. Harry downed two full glasses of orange juice and had to refrain from licking the bowl.

The doctor was just giving him a second refill when the auburn man, Grander, walked into the room. Wanda pursed her lips, but said nothing. She sat down quietly in a chair next to the door.

"So," said Grander. He looked rather awkward. Harry did nothing more than glance at him before continuing to eat his soup.

"So you're feeling better?" Grander pressed.

Harry did not respond.

"I have a few questions," Grander continued, pulling out a sheet of paper. "If you'd be so kind. What were your parent's names?"

Harry still didn't answer.

Grander, cleared his throat. "What Hogwarts house were you in?"

Nothing.

"What were your two friend's names?"

Still Harry didn't reply.

Grander harrumphed. "It would not be so difficult for Harry Potter to answer these questions."

Harry felt a surge of anger. "Harry Potter could break your neck with a wave of his wrist."

He immediately regretted letting his temper get to him. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

Grander, too, looked annoyed. It must be a younger man's affliction, Harry thought vaguely. Grander looked to be in his late 20's.

"If you're interested at all in proving who you say you are, you'll cooperate!"

"I just came to a very disturbing conclusion," Harry said testily. "That every single person that I have ever known and loved is not only dead, but dust. I have nothing to live for. Certainly nothing to prove to you. I am, however," he said, looking at Wanda in the corner. "Very much desirous of a bath. Preferably hot. Would that be completely out of the question?"

Wanda smiled. He seemed to have at least made a favorable impression on someone.

"I'll get that started for you."

Harry turned back to his soup.

"Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but I simply must understand who you are." This Grander fellow was thoroughly annoying. Harry sighed and sat down his spoon. Perhaps he should just get it over with.

"What can I do to convince you?" Harry asked.

Grander paused as though he had not considered the question. Finally he spoke. "Harry Potter was a master magician." Harry had to laugh at this. Grander frowned but continued. "Many of his spells were so unique to him that they've been recorded until now."

"Such as…"

"His Patronis," Grander said. "Was a stag." He pronounced the word very strangely, with a long 'e' sound instead of a 'u' at the end. Still, he could only mean one thing.

"That always seems to be the favorite," Harry said, pulling out his wand. He glanced around the tiny room. "But I don't think there's enough space to conjure it here."

Grander frowned. "There's simply no reason to—"

"You're bath is ready, Mr. Potter." Wanda had returned. Grander looked thoroughly annoyed. Harry grinned. It was probably the first time he'd smiled at anything since he'd woken up.

"I'm afraid our discussion will have to be postponed," he said, sliding his legs off the side of the bed. "When I finish with my bath then I will of course be more than willing to offer a demonstration of my Patronus."

Grander did not look pleased.

Harry, however, was ecstatic. He found the bath to be perfectly warm and spent longer than he probably should have soaking. The ash in his hair turned the water black within minutes, but he cleared it with his wand and washed his hair again to make sure it was all out.

He was very careful to keep his mind entirely on his task. He could not let himself dwell on where, or rather _when_, he was. He had just started to doze off again when he heard a rap on the door.

"Mr. Potter? Are you about finished?"

He sighed and opened his eyes. "Almost," he called. Why couldn't these people just leave him alone?

"Do you need a new suit?"

A suit? "No, thank you," Harry called to her. "I'll just wear what I have." Why on earth would he need a suit?

He finally pulled himself out of the tub and toweled off. He finished dressing and started for the door but caught sight of himself in a mirror that had been provided for him.

He walked over to it, transfixed by his own image. He touched his face hesitantly, his water-wrinkled fingers finding nothing but supple skin. There were no wrinkles around his eyes, nor his mouth.

He ran his fingers through his untidy jet-black hair. There was no grey at all.

God, he looked about eighteen.

What had happened to him?

He ran his fingers over his scar. It was still burning for some reason, even though the rest of him had cooled. He frowned. He scar had not pained him since that night…

There was another knock at the door and Harry hastily turned from the mirror.

"Mr. Potter?"

"I'm coming," Harry said. With a last incredulous look at himself, Harry headed for the door. This time, _he _would be asking some questions of his own.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Grander stood resolutely at the head of the classroom. The Headmaster stood with him, her grey hair tied back and her expression grim. She had not been pleased with Grander's lack of progress and had come herself to see the supposed Harry Potter work his magic.

While every cell in Grander's body told him that this simply could not be the Chosen One, he could not help but feel his resolve slipping when Wanda opened the door to let the youth through. 

Thousands of pictures had been taken of Harry Potter. And hundreds had survived to present day. And this boy looked _exactly like those pictures_.

The ancient wizarding robes helped.

"So you're Harry Potter?" Headmaster Chiden said shortly. She looked him up and down. "A bit young, I'd think."

"You're correct."

Grander was simply floored. He spoke with a very particular accent that made him sound almost foreign—unless you'd spent a lot of time watching ancient video excerpts, and Grander had. The boy's language perfectly matched that of the ancient accent.

"Grander says he's come up with a way for you to prove who you say you are," said the Headmaster. "Are you prepared for this?"

"I don't really need to prepare," the boy said with a shrug. "If he wants a Patronus I can give him a Patronus."

Headmaster Chiden snorted in disbelief. She turned to Grander. "This should at least be interesting," she said.

Grander nodded at her invitation to continue. "Is this area large enough?"

The boy looked around the chamber. "It is."

"Well then," Grander said, rather unsure what kind of preparations the boy would need before he performed his supposed spell. "Can you…er…show us?"

The boy looked almost amused by the entire thing. He removed his wand with a twirl, raised it above his head, and shouted, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

Grander shielded his eyes against the thoroughly unexpected light that flashed out of the tip of the wand. Wanda yelled and took a step back. Even Headmaster Chiden's eyes widened in surprise.

Nothing less than a fully grown stag stood there, its antlered head turned toward them. Its entire body seemed to be made from some sort of white light and Grander felt wonder and amazement spread through his body.

This was real.

This was _magic. _

Grander felt like he was eleven years old again, gazing into his History of Magic textbook for the first time, reading about the wonders that people had once been able to accomplish.

Unable to believe his eyes, he stretched out a quavering hand. The stag approached slowly, its nose in the air and Grander felt a sensation of pure joy flow through his veins. His fingers were centimeters from the stag's nose. Millimeters…

The stag vanished and all the wonder and happiness seemed to disappear from the world. Grander lowered his hand slowly, his eyes never leaving the spot where the stag had been.

"For all that's holy," Wanda whispered. "You really _are _Harry Potter!"

Grander's eyes wrenched themselves from the vanished stag and onto the boy—no, onto _Harry Potter_. He seemed amused by their reaction.

Amused. He had _amused _Harry Potter!

Wonder and disbelief filled Grander again as he realized how incredible this moment was. He resisted the insane urge to bow.

"Poppycock."

Headmaster Chiden's harsh voice broke the spell the stag's appearance had placed on them. She had her hands on her hips and was glaring at the boy.

"I don't know what stunt you're trying to pull," Chiden said scathingly. "But I'm not buying it. Not for a second. I've seen holograms before and this is no different. Now, you're to tell us who you are and why you're pretending to be Harry Potter. I will no longer tolerate this charade."

Grander could only look at her in disbelief, bordering on horror. Didn't she realize who she was _talking _to?

Harry Potter, too, looked perplexed. "Holograms?" he said in his old fashioned accent. "Things like that don't work at Hogwarts. Not that I've ever seen a hologram," he added.

"Poppycock," Chiden repeated. "'Things like that' work just fine. As you well know."

Grander could see that the Headmaster was getting angrier and angrier and while he couldn't understand why, he nevertheless felt it his duty to intervene.

"Headmaster," he said quietly. "There's no equipment in this room that would support a hologram. I chose this room specifically for that reason. I had all the equipment removed."

"Then he's got some portable device," she said, eyeing Harry Potter suspiciously. "Hidden in those ludicrous robes, no doubt."

"Headmaster, I very much doubt—" Grander began.

"I am not interested."

The sharp comment came not from Chiden, but from Harry Potter. All eyes turned to him.

"I woke up in a graveyard," Harry Potter said. His voice was quiet, but everyone in the room heard him clearly. "In a grave. Since that time, I have been poked, prodded, frozen, questioned, and ridiculed. I have had quite enough of this nonsense." His emerald eyes landed on the Headmaster and hardened. "I have done everything requested of me. Your time for questions is over. Mine has begun."

No one spoke.

"What is the year?"

No one spoke for a moment. Finally Grander's hesitant voice announced, "3003."

Something flickered in Harry Potter's eyes but it quickly vanished. He nodded sharply and continued. "Where am I?"

"Hogwarts, of course," Grander said, a small smile coming to his place. He had read a great deal about Harry Potter's fondness for the place.

"Why is Muggle equipment everywhere?"

Chiden looked thoroughly offended by this question. Grander hastily responded before she could get a word out. "What kind of 'Muggle equipment'?"

Harry seemed to consider the question. "Technology. Why is there so much technology and so little magic?"

No one seemed quite sure how to answer his question. Finally Headmaster Chiden drew herself up. "Muggles were able to accomplish much more with their technology than we were with our magic. We chose to accept the changes rather than fight them."

"Accomplish more…" Harry Potter seemed to be trying to digest her words. "Such as _what _exactly?"

No one seemed to know how to answer his questions. Grander could see Chiden working herself up again. She turned abruptly to face him.

"Grander, you're to answer his questions. I assume he's well enough to leave, Wanda?"

"He embodies perfect health, Headmaster." Wanda looked perplexed. "Not a scratch." She hesitated, then decided to add her two cents. "He does have a scar though…"

"Then after you're done questioning him," Chiden said sternly to Grander, cutting Wanda off. "You're to make a full report to the Ministry and send him there. I see no reason for him to remain under _my_ supervision."

"Yes, Headmaster," Grander said. Chiden turned sharply on her heal and marched out of the room. Wanda cast Harry Potter a last look before following hurriedly.

Grander and the boy looked at each other for a moment. Finally Grander put his amazement into words.

"So, you can really do magic?"

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A/N: Don't worry. Questions will be answered in the next chapter. Review!


	6. Chapter 6: Fashion

A/N: Drat! I was discovered. Okay, okay, apologies for the thermometer in my earlier chapter. I write a little hasty sometimes and I got distracted by the Muggle factor instead of the technology thing. Had I been thinking, the nurse would have just pointed and zapped and found Harry's temperature by measuring his blackbody radiation (for those physics fans) but I only thought of it after I'd already posted. If anyone's deeply offended, I can always go back and repost that chapter.

Chapter 6: Fashion

Harry's face was a calm mask, an expression he had mastered with years of Auror and Ministry training. Nevertheless, his insides were aflame.

He was sitting in the auburn man—Grander's office. He had just sat there and listened to this teacher explain to him that not only was there very little magic left in use today, but also very few Muggles, an obscene number of magic _students_, and apparently a shortage of famous people coming back to life.

The first had been explained away. Muggles had gone to space, created holodecks, used computers for advanced communication…all of which caught the attention and fancy of wizards. There was no conscious decision to stop using magic, it had simply phased out.

_Phases out_, Harry thought incredulously. _Like some sort of fashion._

The absence of Muggles was quite extraordinary, Harry thought. Overnight (to him at least) Muggles had gone from the vast majority to the vast minority. The problem, Grander had explained, had been global warming. Apparently about two centuries after Harry's time, the Muggles had simply destroyed the planet beyond all use. Then they loaded up in their massive interspace transport vehicles, and…left. The wizarding community had done absolutely nothing to help.

After the Muggles left, however, the Ministry snapped into action. Using _magic_, Harry noted, the Ministry corrected many of the ecosystem errors that the Muggles' technology (unadvanced technology, Grander had said pointedly) had created. They had strengthened the ozone layer (which was practically gone by that point), cleaned up the nuclear wastes, removed toxins from the air, and cleaned the Muggle pharmaceuticals out of the water. Then, in a massive international effort, the wizarding community made the entire earth unplottable.

Other than the poor Muggles who couldn't afford an interstellar seat and the occasional Squib, Muggles were effectively excommunicated.

Without any need to hide, the wizarding community's population had increased exponentially. The current population had settled at about 3 billion people and had remained around that number for the last four centuries.

And while people had been cloned, developed in test tubes, and revived weeks after death, not a single time in the history of the wizarding world has _anyone_, famous or not, _ever _come back from the dead.

There was, Grander told him with a small smile, a movement to have him, Harry, cloned. But as far as Grander knew, it had never taken off.

Finally Grander stopped speaking and Harry had no more questions he wanted to ask. They sat facing each other, each silent. Finally, Grander spoke again.

"I don't know what we're going to do with you. I suppose that will be up to the Ministry. The Headmaster—"

There was a knock at the door. Grander excused himself and got up to answer it. Behind the door was a tall thin man. His brown hair was decidedly thinner on top than on the sides and he was clutching papers to his chest. He looked relieved to see Grander.

Grander, however, looked startled. "Minister!" he said, quickly opening the door and letting him pass. "Please have a seat!"

"Thank you, Dr. Grander," the Minister said heavily. He entered the room and his eyes landed on Harry. He looked quite startled to see him and, oddly, his eyes flickered to Harry's forehead. The papers in his hands fell to the floor.

"Dear God!"

Harry rose hastily to his feet. Why had the man even thought to look at his forehead? He fought the desire to smooth this bangs. The damage had already been done.

"Minister," Grander tried. "This is—"

"_Harry Potter!_" The Minister finished for him. Ignoring the papers at his feet, he strode into the room and shook Harry's hand very hard. There were tears in his eyes.

"I should have known. Thank the gods; I should have known you would be here, too."

Harry and Grander looked at each other, perplexed. Grander steered the Minister into a seat. Harry couldn't explain it, but a sense of foreboding had risen within him at the Minister's words. His eyes fell to the floor, to the papers that the Minister had dropped.

All the air left Harry's lungs and his heart contracted painfully in his chest.

Without conscious thought, Harry's face formed a mask and he stood.

"Good day, to you Minister," he said coolly. He gave a short bow to the Minister and then to Grander and left the room.

"Wha—bring him back in here! We _need _him!"

Harry started walking very fast. He heard footsteps behind him and felt a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly Grander was in front of him, preventing him from walking.

"Harry Potter!" He had an annoying habit of saying Harry's entire name. "What's going on? Where are you going? That was the _Minister_!"

"I'm aware of that," Harry said, his voice calm. "But I'm afraid that I can't be of any assistance to him."

"Assistance? What are you talking about? What—"

"Voldemort's sign has been spotted over the town of Haggleton."

The Minster's voice came from behind Harry. He sounded out of breath.

"I'm not interested."

"The entire town was slaughtered."

"It's not my job to deal with that sort of thing."

"By magic."

"Sucks for you."

"Mr. Potter, we _need _you!"

Harry's fists clenched at his side. He said nothing. He could not deny the statement.

"If this really is Voldemort—" Grander began, fear creeping onto his face.

"It is."

Grander and the Minister fell silent at Harry's words.

"How can you be sure?" Grander said. "I mean, perhaps someone simply researched the magic behind making the sign. Perhaps it's just a copy cat."

"It's him," Harry said calmly. His scar burned against his forehead. The rest of him felt numb.

"I came to find you, Doctor Grander," the Minister said. "Because you're the leading authority on this time period. I was hoping that you would say it wasn't possible…"

Grander said nothing. Harry shrugged and shook him off. He started walking again. "I must have missed a Horcrux, is all." His insides burned. _How_? After all the research. After all the hunting. _How _could he have _missed_ one?"

"Missed a—but what you going to _do_?" Grander asked, hurrying to catch up with him. "Surely there must be something—"

"What are_ you_ going to do, _Doctor Grander,_" Harry snapped, his temper getting the better of him. "Maybe he'll agree to a duel and you can shoot him with your laser guns."

"Would that work?" the Minister asked behind him.

Harry forced his hands to relax at his sides as fury engulfed him. He knew that it wasn't these men that infuriated him. They were scared, that was all. Well, so was he.

"He's making fun of us," Grander said, anger creeping into his voice for the first time. "If you don't want to help us—"

"Getting that vibe, are you?" Harry asked, more coldly than he had intended. He couldn't bring himself to care.

"Innocent people will die!" Grander said, definitely angry now. Harry wondered vaguely if he was upset at seeing the famous Harry Potter brought down to human level. Served him right.

Harry stopped again. He whirled around to face the Minister, who nearly ran into him in his hurry to keep up.

"Don't you have people who handle this sort of thing?"

"Evil wizards?" the Minister said with a laugh of forced calm. "Decidedly not. Now, if Voldemort decided he wanted to inject a virus into the Ministry's mainframe, we could deal with _that_."

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know where he was going. Grander and the Minister just _stood _there, _waiting _for him to tell them what to do! Harry felt panic creeping in underneath his fury. His breathing was coming faster and he was struggling to maintain his calm. He reached a hand into his pocket and felt his wand. It warmed at his touch and he gripped it like a drowning man.

"I'm not your hero," he said scathingly. Grander and the Minister took a step back. Harry waved his wand through the air before him and suddenly felt like he was being squeezed through the tiniest of tubes.

He popped into being moments later next to the lake. He breathed in the sweet autumn air and closed his eyes.

He hadn't been sure if apparating would even work. He did know, however, that the defensive spells on the castle had to be maintained and he doubted seriously that any of the spells had been refreshed lately.

He opened his eyes and his heart skipped a beat. He had come 1000 years into the future. Everything he knew had changed in (to him) the space of several days. And he'd be damned if Hogwarts didn't look exactly like he remembered it.

His eyes feasted on the soaring towers and for one moment he allowed himself to believe he was back in his own time. He closed his eyes again and saw Ginny beside him. Her eyes had laugh marks around them, her red hair streaked with grey…as he remembered her. She was beautiful. Ginny slipped her hand into his and they watched as their grandchildren threw slices of bread into the lake for the giant squid. Peace washed over him.

Harry opened his eyes and felt a great well of misery boil inside of him for everything he'd lost.

He wondered what on earth he had done for God to punish him like this.

His eyes slid to the spot that Hagrid's cabin had once stood. It, too, was gone. Like everything else, it had fallen to the inevitable might of time. Everything else but him.

He didn't know what to do or who to turn to. In the back of his mind he screamed at himself to get a grip. No good could come from walking down the path of remembrance. But he didn't know how to pull himself out.

There was no one to help him. It was just him. For the first time in a very long time, Harry felt utterly and completely alone. He walked forward to the water's edge and gazed at his reflection. Anger boiled inside of him at the sight of his youthful face. His wand was still clenched in his fist. He raised it. He didn't know what he planned, but he just didn't want to _look _at himself anymore.

"Halloween already?"

Harry looked up, his solitude shattered.

A girl was walking toward him. She looked to be in her late teens. _His _age, Harry thought mournfully. She was grinning.

"Let me guess," she said. "Harry Potter?"

Harry snorted and looked away, his eyes landing on the castle.

"Gotta say," she remarked, "You went all out. I don't even know how you managed to _find _a program for those old wizarding robes anymore."

Harry glanced at her. She was wearing a very strange combination of clothes. Her green shirt had one sleeve that went all the way to her wrist while her other arm was completely bare. She was wearing hot pink tights under an orange miniskirt.

And people said _he _looked ridiculous? Kids and their fashions.

"Are you new?"

"Something like that."

"From out of town, sounds like. Are you an exchange student?"

Harry frowned. "You could say that."

"You look familiar. Have I seen you from somewhere?"

"History books?"

She laughed. Then she stopped and regarded him seriously for a moment. "Wait a moment. You're that boy from the cemetery."

Harry laughed. "Yeah. Yeah I am."

"There've been rumors _all _over school about _you_," she said, impressed. "I'm Hannah, by the way. Hannah Roaden."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, not wanting to be having this conversation.

She tilted her head slightly and looked at him. "This is the part where you tell me your name."

Harry smiled slightly. "Call me Harry."

She laughed. "Got it."

"Ms. Roaden!"

Hannah jumped and whirled around. "Professor Chaffee!"

"It's not the weekend, Ms. Roaden!" Professor Chaffee said sternly. She was a rather severe looking woman. "You're to be in uniform!"

Hannah's fingers flew to her wrist where she was wearing some sort of bracelet. She pressed the bracelet with her thumb. Harry got a second's glimpse of a skintight silver suit before Hannah's outfit changed to a more formal dull grey arrangement of loose grey pants and a loose grey sweatshirt. Her house crest was embroidered on the right. Harry squinted at it a moment, but he although he knew it looked like a bird, it certainly wasn't an eagle…

"And who are you, young man?" the teacher asked. Harry resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

"No one, really," Harry said. He sighed. "I just came out here to get away from the castle."

"That's all very well and good," Chaffee said. "But you, too, should be in uniform!"

Harry glanced at her, amused. "Don't like my robes?"

"Halloween's not for several weeks," she said sternly.

"I don't have anything else," Harry told her. "Just these. I don't have one of those…suit things."

Both Chaffee and Hannah looked at him, uncomprehending.

"You don't have what?"

Harry thought they were being quite dull. "Those suit things you've got on! With the little bracelet?" Harry pulled at the collar of his robes. "See? Actual fabric."

Hannah's face turned to one of amazement. "That's…" she walked toward him and picked at his sleeve. "Professor! Look! It really _is _real!"

Harry jerked away, embarrassed for some reason. "It's not like it's weird or anything!"

"Leave the poor boy alone," Chaffee said. It was Hannah's turn to look embarrassed now. She dropped his sleeve and stepped away. "He's obviously not from around here. Are you new, son? Have you been to see the Headmaster?"

"He's the boy from the graveyard, Professor," Hannah said quietly.

There was a moment of silence while Chaffee looked stunned.

"I see! And you're well enough to be walking around on your own?"

"Perfect health, thank you," Harry said, annoyed. He was not accustomed to being mollycoddled.

Harry could see that the professor was obviously trying to think of something to do with him and he quickly decided to end the conversation.

"I believe Professor Grander has some business with me," he said calmly. "If you'll excuse me, I'll find my own way back to his office."

"Of course."

Harry was halfway around the lake when he saw a panicked Grander running out the front doors toward him. He sighed and then steeled himself. What was life without a bit of tedious explanations?

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A/N: For those coming from my original 3003, I've decided to revamp a few of the old characters, like Hannah for instance. I'll also be introducing totally new ones. This version will have very few of the original plot devices. :)


	7. Chapter 7: Houses and Hooligans

A/N: What can I say? School's started up again. Updating is a little harder.

Chapter 7: Houses and Hooligans

Harry stared hard at the papers in front of him. The Minister, Crocker, was still talking, but Harry had stopped listening. His eyes were glued to the paper before him, his thumb moving up and down the edges—the only outward sign of nervousness he gave.

The papers contained a detailed report of Voldemort's attack, complete with color photos and an audio commentary from the Ministry wizards that were called to the scene. Harry's eyes lingered over the photo of the dark mark.

"There were several survivors," Crocker's voice cut through Harry's internal void. "Several people managed to teleport out. However, Voldemort must have known what he was doing because other than the four people who got out immediately, no one else managed. When the squad investigated the reason for this, all the teleporters were offline."

"Are they repairable?" Harry asked without looking up. The people at the table—Crocker, Grander, Chiden, and two other Ministry officials whose names Harry couldn't recall—fell silent immediately. It was the first time he'd spoken.

"I don't see how that's relevant," Headmistress Chiden said coldly. She had protested vehemently about Harry being allowed to be involved.

Harry ignored her. Crocker cleared his throat. "Yes. It appears to have been some sort of power surge."

"Then Voldemort most likely wasn't acting alone," Harry said. "Either he would have blocked the teleporters by magic or he would have simply destroyed them. Had he known about them at all. I'd bet my life that he has no more idea how to operate a power surge than I do." Not that he was counting his life as worth much at the moment. Harry frowned and forced the thought from his mind.

"Whatever that means," Chiden interrupted quickly. She turned to the Minister. "I simply can't see how it's possible that Voldemort is back. He's been dead a thousand years. This must be some sort of copy cat."

Harry frowned, but knew that, as she didn't believe his story, his own presence in the room did little to refute her claim. His scar burned on his forehead. It had not stopped since he'd awoken. That would mean anything to Chiden either.

"Is it possible that someone has picked up the incantation for the Dark Mark somewhere else?" Harry asked, directing his attention to Grander and Crocker.

Crocker looked at Grander. Grander paused thoughtfully, then sighed. "I suppose it is possible. But I personally have never come across anything of the sort in my studies. A book on practical magic is rare. A book containing the forbidden incantation for a forbidden spell that was only known a thousand years ago…" he spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "The _odds_, anyway, are tremendously against it."

"If it _is _a copycat," said Harry. "Then we can count our many blessings and this whole business will be concluded with presently. If it is Voldemort, we are in deep trouble. I believe that in this circumstance, it is better to assume that it is Voldemort and react accordingly, rather than do too little and find ourselves at a disadvantage."

Even Chiden couldn't argue with his logic.

"What are we to do?" Grander asked.

"What do we know?" Harry asked, looking at Crocker and the other Ministry members.

"Hundreds of people are dead," said a witch to Crocker's right. "Their remains have been examined and there is no clue as to what killed most of them."

Harry said, "Avada Kedavra." At the same time Grander said, "The Killing Curse."

The air seemed to be sucked from the room and all eyes turned to Harry.

"You _know _the Killing Curse?" Grander said, his voice going rather high at the end.

Harry blinked, startled by the unexpected attention. "I-I've never _used _it!"

It was like he'd brought a gun into the room. Everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats, eyeing Harry warily while pretending not to.

"Clearly the incantation for that particular spell has passed from knowledge," Harry said, still taken aback. "What else do we know?"

The witch cleared her throat. "The surrounding area has been examined. There is one individual, a Mr. Lanny Rupert who was found stabbed to death in a nearby cemetery."

"What did you say the name of the town was?" Harry asked, suspicion creeping up in him.

"Haggleton," the woman responded. "Little Haggleton. Greater Haggleton was unscathed.

"Haggleton," Harry said, his voice deadpan. "Like Hangleton, correct?"

"Hangleton?" Grander said, his eyes wide. "But that's where—"

"Voldemort was buried," Harry said. "Why wasn't this mentioned before when we were trying to decide if it was really him?"

"Hangleton's disappeared," Grander said meekly. "I suppose the name changed slightly and it's such a little town…"

"No one noticed," Harry finished. "Never mind. It's inconsequential, now. Mr. Lanny Rupert. On top of what grave was he stabbed?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," the woman read from her paper.

Harry looked at Grander significantly, but the other man clearly didn't recognize the name.

Harry sighed. "That's Voldemort. Tom. Marvolo. Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort. That disappear in history, too?"

Everyone looked at him askance. Harry realized what he'd said. "No! _I'm _not Lord Voldemort. It's the _name._ It—" He pulled out his wand and everyone recoiled slightly. He quickly traced the name in the air, then flicked his wand so the letters rearranged. The tension in the room visibly decreased.

"That's okay," Harry said with a grin. "I missed it the first time, too." With another flick, the letters vanished.

Grander was grinning, too. "Magic," he said, shaking his head.

Harry had convinced the Headmistress to give him a room. Crocker had offered Harry a room at the Minstry, but Harry had politely declined, much to Headmaster Chiden's chagrin. She was still suspicious of him, but, mostly because Crocker believed Harry, she'd kept her protesting to a minimum.

Harry sat on his bed and watched the rain through his window. He subconsciously pulled his blanket around his shoulders. The harsh overhead lights lit up every corner of the room, but certainly didn't keep it warm.

He wondered if he should just light a fire and be done with it. He felt like he could survive the caveman jokes that would probably follow, just to have that little bit of comfort a flame could provide.

He sighed and pulled his blanket around him. He was just going to have to adjust, that was all. He spotted what appeared to be a thermostat on the wall. He winced.

Hogwarts, _his _Hogwarts. Reduced to some sort of Muggle boarding school. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was nearing midnight. Chiden had told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to go roaming the halls during the night. She said it would trip an alarm and he would wake up half the staff.

Wake up half the staff indeed. Clearly the halls hadn't been patrolled for a very long time. He reached out and touched the wood paneling that stylishly covered up the castle's stone. Was nothing _sacred_ to these people?

Harry knew he should just go to bed. He knew he should get some sleep.

He just didn't know why. The meeting had turned out to be little more than an excuse for the Ministry wizards to gawk at Harry and ask him what he expected to do about Voldemort. They seemed surprised that he was resentful of the duty they'd given him and unimpressed with his warnings. They seemed convinced that the great Harry Potter had come to save the day and now all they had to do was wait.

Harry was not so convinced.

He got up and restlessly paced his small room.

They were unprepared. So completely unprepared.

And he was desperate. And alone. So completely alone. He hadn't been alone before. He'd _never _been so alone before. Not even at the Dursleys' and certainly never after.

Why had _he _come back?

For the first time since he'd awoken, he carefully turned his thoughts back to his rude awakening. Then he did something he hadn't really considered doing. He prodded his thoughts back to the moment before…

He was hungry. He should really get something to eat. He wondered if the kitchens were still where they used to be. He wondered if house elves still worked there.

He glanced at the clock again. It was past midnight now. He smiled slightly. That had never stopped him before. He considered apparating, but wasn't sure what the kitchen looked like and didn't want to risk hitting a wall or something.

Besides, what was the fun in apparating?

Knowing that his recklessness would probably get him caught (how old was he, anyway, to be worrying about getting caught sneaking to the kitchens?), Harry opened his door. It swung inward.

His eyes scanned the darkness, looking for whatever it was that would alert the teachers to his presence. His eyes landed on a small blinking red light on the inside bottom of his doorframe. His eyes scanned the rest of the frame and the outside hallway. It appeared to be the alone in its kitchen-stopping mission.

He fingered his wand, considering turning it off, then shrugged. What was the point? He stepped outside, careful to lift his pajama'd legs far over the sensored area. He felt strangely like James Bond. He grinned in the darkness. Now all he needed was a tux.

He paused to get his bearings. He wasn't entirely sure if the kitchens would be in the same place, but set off resolutely in that direction. It not like he had anything else to go on.

His Auror training served him well on his mission downstairs. His eyes scanned the darkness and spotted three more red lights on his way. He carefully stepped over them, as well.

He reached the hallway the kitchens had once been in and broke out into a trot. He'd made it! If only he could remember which portrait it was…

He felt just like a schoolboy. His eyes shone in the darkness. Breaking rules in the middle of the night. Sneaking around the castle. He may as well be a student.

He slowed his pace as he reached what he believed to be the correct distance. His eyes landed on a door. Just a door? He felt slightly let down.

He put his hand on the doorknob and hesitated, listening. There were voices coming from the other side. He almost reconsidered his venture but then, throwing caution to the wind, opened the door.

"Freeze!"

Harry froze. Three students stood before him, two guys and a girl, looking to be in their late teens. They looked mildly surprised at being interrupted, but not shocked. The boy on the left was the one who'd spoken. He'd leapt from his seat upon Harry's entrance and still held out a warning hand.

They didn't appear to be a danger and Harry felt himself relaxing.

"Don't move," said the boy, walking towards him slowly. "You've got four sensors trained on you. Move and you'll get us all caught."

Harry's eyes skirted around the room. He only counted three.

"One's behind you," the boy said, watching his eyes. "Didn't you bring something to disable them?"

"Sorry," Harry said, frowning. "I'm new."

The boy seemed to relax at Harry's words. His face broke into a grin. "Thought you'd come to the kitchens? Surely someone warned you."

"That's mostly why I came," Harry said with a grin of his own. "Tell me, is there anything I can move?"

"Your left arm and your right leg," the boy said. He was watching Harry closely. "What are you going to do?"

"Magic," Harry said, raising his eyebrows impressively. The other boy and the girl had joined their friend. They were all watching him.

Harry carefully reached his left hand into his right pocket and extracted his wand. He aimed very carefully at the sensor directly in front of him and flicked his wand, as though trying to remove a fly from the end. The red light went out.

He did this twice more. His wand felt awkward in his left hand, but he didn't move his right.

"Now what can I move?" Harry asked. The three were looking at him impressed.

"The one behind you zones in on your left foot," the girl offered. Harry twisted around, trying to see the sensor without setting it off. He spotted it partially concealed by a painting.

Another flick. One less light.

Harry relaxed with a sigh of relief. The three students looked at him, impressed.

"Know a bit of magic, do we?" the girl asked with a grin. "Course, isn't as handy as a ghost pod." She pulled a small cone-shaped contraption out of her pocket and tossed it once into the air before closing her fist around it. "Sensors look for blackbody radiation. This little baby cools the outside of our suits down to match the external sensor. I invented it myself."

Harry tried very hard not to look perplexed. "Mine works by magic," he said with a shrug.

"Pretty fancy wand work, though," said the boy who had helped him, with a grin. He was quite tall and had chestnut hair. "I'm Randy. Randy Thorun. This is Gayvin Nort and Gabby Terris." He nodded to the other two. The other boy, Gayvin, was rather short, made even more so by Randy's height. He was darker than Randy and rather heavyset. Gabby had long black hair tied back in a ponytail, an oval face, and a slightly upturned nose.

"Neville," Harry said, grinning broadly as he chose the name he'd used before. "Neville Longbottom."

"Nice to meet you, Neville." Randy said. "You often wonder around the school in your pajamas?"

Harry sighed, exasperated. The three of them were fully dressed, all in more subdued colors than the girl he'd seen by the lake but all cut outrageously. "People have _got _to stop making fun of my clothes."

They laughed. "Pull up a chair," Gayvin said to him. Then he glanced around. There were no more chairs to be seen. "One second, I'll get Bilby to get you one…" He darted out of sight.

Harry shrugged and waited patiently even though he knew it would be much easier for him to simply transfigure something. Gayvin came back in a moment with a chair under one arm and a tray of food in the other.

The others exclaimed over the food.

"Bilby got it for me," Gayvin said grinning. "Said it was on him for the new kid."

Harry didn't quite understand but nevertheless grabbed a sandwich off the proffered tray. An electric blue substance was spread on the bread. Harry eyed it nervously before eating it. It tasted like berries.

"So what's your story, Neville?" Gabby asked, licking blue off her fingers. "Where're you from?"

Harry hesitated. "Godric's Hollow," he said, deciding to stay as close to the truth as possible. "But Surrey before that."

"Surrey?" Gayvin said, frowning. "Where's that exactly?"

Harry silently cursed himself. No Surrey? "South of here."

They seemed fine with this answer. "Can you show me how to do that magic thing?" Gayvin asked.

Harry shrugged. "It's easy enough. A charm. I just froze it."

"Can you unfreeze it?" Gabby asked, suddenly skeptical. "They'll know someone's been down here if they find all the sensors broken."

"Easy enough," Harry said, starting on his second sandwich. "Just use the counter charm."

"Did you go to another school before Hogwarts?" Randy asked curiously.

Harry's mind raced. He remembered what Grander said about the large number of wizarding schools. He nodded. "Stonewall High."

"Never heard of it," Randy said casually. "Public, is it?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Not nearly as good as Hogwarts."

They smiled at this. "Hogwarts used to be the only school in England," Gayvin said. "Way back when." Then he frowned. "Looks like you learn more magic there than we do here."

Harry shrugged, hoping Gayvin wouldn't push the point. "I'm interested, that's all. There's a lot out there if you look for it."

"Not at Hogwarts," Gayvin said miserably.

Harry looked up, surprised.

"Pansy," Gabby said scornfully. She turned to Harry. "Gayvin is rubbish with the technical stuff. He's had to drop Computer Graphics twice, and that's the lowest level Electronics class."

Gayvin glared at her. "There are other things in life, you know."

"All I'm saying," Gabby said, holding up her hands innocently. "Is that you can't get a job with a NEWT in Magic."

Harry couldn't believe they still had NEWTs. Still, he was more than a little concerned about Gabby's words. "Can you really not?" he asked.

"Well, you can," Gabby relented. A small smile touched her lips. "Especially if you want to go into community service. I've heard the cities are always looking for people to vanish trash."

Gayvin set his jaw in anger.

Randy decided to break things up. "That's enough, both of you." He turned to Harry and rolled his eyes. "See what I have to put up with?"

"I'm rubbish at technology, too," Harry told Gayvin. "_And _I think magic is wholly underrepresented. Wizards used to do everything with magic! Now they're no more than Muggles with their fancy trinkets."

"Looks like Gayvin's found a friend," Randy said with a smirk.

Gabby rolled her eyes. "_History_ buffs."

"It's not just history," Harry said seriously. "Or haven't you heard?"

Something about his voice hushed them.

"A town's been attacked." Harry snorted. "More than attacked. _Decimated_. Totally wiped out. Everyone dead but a couple people who managed to teleport out before a power surge got to the transporters."

"You're kidding," Randy said, but his tone told Harry he believed every word.

"I'm not kidding," Harry said, frowning. "But that's not the worst part. The Dark Mark was floating above the remains."

Gabby and Randy looked at him uncomprehending, but Gayvin's eyes widened.

"But that—that's impossible! There's no way that spell could have survived after all this time!"

"What spell?" Randy asked. "What's a Dark Mark?"

"It's Voldemort's sign," Gayvin said quietly.

For some reason, the tension in the room eased up like a balloon popping. Gabby sat back in her seat with a laugh. "You had me going for a second, Neville. You really did."

Harry looked at her, confused.

"Voldemort? Really?" She held up her hands in mock horror. "The Dark Lord! Someone help!" Randy laughed. Gabby turned her amused stare to Harry. "Where did you hear this anyway?"

Harry paused before answering. It wouldn't do to give away his identity. Right now it was one of his only tools against Voldemort and the less people who knew the better. "Heard some teachers talking about it. And the Headmistress. And the Minister of Magic himself was at the school, you know."

"I heard he was here on routine Ministry business," Randy said skeptically.

"The Minister of Magic himself?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows. "I don't think so."

They were silent for a moment. Their plate of sandwiches was empty. Harry went to check his watch before remembering that he didn't have one.

Randy saw his gesture and checked his own. "1:15."

Gabby stood up and stretched. "Sounds like bedtime for me." The others followed her lead. Harry also climbed to his feet. "It was good talking to you, Neville," Gabby said with a smile. "Maybe we'll see you around campus."

Harry nodded. He decided to apparate rather than risk the sensors again. "I think I'll stay a minute longer."

"Suit yourself," Randy said as he opened the door. "By the way, what house are you in?"

"Gryffindor," Harry said. "You?"

"Ravenclaw."

"Ravenclaw."

"Potter."

With that, they closed the door, leaving him standing alone, sure he'd misheard.

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A/N: Read and review. Just wanna send out a heartfelt thanks for the support of my last chapter. It was the most reviews yet. Hope this one lives up to expectations!


	8. Chapter 8: If the Suit Fits

A/N: Mild delays in updating. College is hard. A rather transitionary chapter, but has some interesting parts as well as humor. Thanks for not giving up on me. :)

Chapter 8: If The Suit Fits...

"I thought you knew," Grander said with a shrug. "I mean, it's been a house for almost 800 years."

"Yeah, 800 years that I wasn't around for," Harry said with a frown. "A Hogwarts House named after me? How did that even happen?"

"When the school started filling up, Hogwarts needed more places to house students," Grander explained. "Once a new area was built, it needed name. I'm guessing they picked you because you're one of the most notable people to have graduated from Hogwarts."

"I see…"Harry said thoughtfully. "So what's Potter house known for?"

"Sorry?"

"Gryffindors are brave, Ravenclaws are smart, Slytherins are evil," Harry ticked them off his fingers. "And Hufflepuffs are loyal."

"Slytherins are _what?_"

Harry grinned. "Well, only if you asked a Gryffindor. Technically they're just ambitious."

Grander shook his head. "Potters are known for their determination. Of course, there's a rumor going around that they're actually chosen for their Quid skills, but as of yet, that's unconfirmed."

"Seriously?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh yes," Grander said with a small smile. "They win the Cup three out of four years."

Harry grinned. "That's more than I even accomplished." He leaned back in his seat. "Determined, eh?"

"That's what the Sorting Quiz says."

"The Sorting _what?_"

"The quiz," Grander said. "I forgot you didn't have them. It's how we determine what house to put the students in. They take a quiz, answer questions, etc."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of," Harry said incredulously.

"Really?" Grander said, raising his eyebrows. "If I remember correctly, you had some sort of bizarre ceremony that involved a singing hat."

"Well, when you put it that way…"

They were sitting in Grander's office. Harry had come by to see him and had lucked in on him when he was in office hours.

"In other news," Grander said, rolling his chair over to his computer. "The Minister has requested your presence at the Ministry."

Harry sighed and sat up in his chair. "When?"

"Tomorrow," Grander said. "His secretary sent me an E-mail. It seems I'm officially the middle man. I'm sure the Headmaster would hook you up a computer in your room if you requested it."

"Nope," Harry said, shaking his head. "I'm not getting a computer on the principle of the thing."

Grander smiled at him, amused. "You know, it's _much _faster than those _owls _you used to fly around."

Harry grinned back at him. "Faster, maybe, but far less sociable." He shook his head, his smile widening. "You know, in _my _day—"

"Professor Grander?" Harry and Grander looked up. A girl stood in the doorway. Harry recognized her at once. It was Hannah, the girl he'd met by the lake.

"Sorry," she said quickly upon seeing Harry. "I didn't realize anyone was in here."

"I was just leaving," Harry said quickly, standing up.

Hannah frowned at him, looking him up and down. "No offense, but it's a little odd that you're still wearing those robes around."

Harry looked down at himself. _He _thought the robes looked _nice._

Grander groaned. "We've got to find you a suit! You've been wearing those ridiculous things around and I just sort of got used to it."

"I _like _my robes," Harry said defensively. "They're very comfortable."

"I'll talk to the Headmaster about getting you a uniform," Grander said, giving him a look. "And I'll talk to you later."

He was as good as his word. Harry finished eating lunch and entered his room to find a silvery suit lying neatly folded on his bed. For one wild moment, Harry thought it was his invisibility cloak, but upon picking it up, discovered its true identity.

He stared at it in distaste. A suit. A silvery, skin-tight suit. Harry found the right sleeve and felt a ring of metal at the cuff. The piece that made the visible clothes change.

Harry held the suit for a moment before reluctantly taking off his robes.

It was the single most uncomfortable experience Harry could remember. The suit clung to his skin like plastic wrap to metal. It crinkled and stuck to itself when he wrinkled it, and when it touched his skin it latched on like a leech. Harry had to lift the shirt and smooth it four times before he got it to sit right.

After it was on, Harry felt no better than before. The thing was skin tight, but light as a feather and completely breathable. It felt like he was wearing nothing at all—which was in itself rather disconcerting.

He examined the metal ring on his wrist. Although metal, it was very malleable and had stretched to allow his hand through the sleeve and shrunk to fit snuggly on his wrist. It had a small screen and two buttons to each side.

Harry pressed the button on the far right.

Immediately he was wearing the same loose grey uniform he'd seen the other students wearing. He looked down at his chest and saw a lion gazing up at him from the Gryffindor coat of arms.

The problem, Harry thought, was that while it certainly _looked _like he was wearing clothes, he didn't _feel _like he was wearing anything.

It was rather uncomfortable.

Reluctantly, he folded his robes into a neat pile and put them under the bed. His uniform moved with him, mimicking his every move. It honestly looked absolutely real. It even compressed like it was supposed to when he put his hand on his arm so it looked exactly like a shirt should…but he felt the silvery suit under his fingers instead.

"It's just different," Harry told himself aloud. "It's different than what you're used to. But there's nothing you can do. You have to blend in."

He turned to the mirror on his wall and smoothed down his hair. It sprung back immediately. He pointedly didn't look at his clothes or his face in his reflection.

There was a laugh of delight somewhere in the room.

Harry turned quickly and saw Hannah, the girl he'd spoken to at the lake. She was wearing the same uniform.

"_Now_ you look like a student," she said with a grin.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" Harry asked, frowning. It felt very disconcerting to be standing in front of a girl, feeling like he wasn't wearing anything.

"I'm not one for politesse."

"I can see." Harry frowned. "How did you find my room?"

She rolled her eyes. "_Everyone _knows where you're staying. People have been walking up and down this hall trying to catch a glimpse of you. Everyone's been talking, trying to figure out why you're here, where you're from, why you're not in any of the dormitories…"

"So you're here for information," Harry said.

"I'm here," Hannah said, her voice amused but serious. "Because I'm very very clever. That, and you're not nearly half as mysterious as you pretend to be."

"Meaning?"

"It doesn't take a genius," Hannah said. "I know who you are."

"So what?" Harry asked, shrugging. He glanced around the room, trying to find something to do with his hands. In his experience, if someone felt unwanted they would leave, and if he could concentrate his attention on something else, she would get the hint.

There was nothing to keep his attention. He frowned.

"You're a new teacher."

Harry tried to contain his surprise. He decided to let her keep talking.

Her eyes had lit up. "A _magic _teacher."

She was silent. Harry supposed she wanted some sort of reaction from him.

"You could say that."

She frowned, suddenly unsure. "What else could you say?"

"Can't tell you," Harry said, finding himself smiling slightly. "Would give away some of the mystery."

"Fine," she said, shrugging. "Don't tell me. Professor Grander wouldn't either. He's the one that tipped me off about the magic thing, that and the Trouble Trio."

Harry frowned.

"Been talking about their midnight adventure all day," Hannah explained. "To the kitchens."

"Ah."

"So," she paused, then forged ahead. "When are you going to start teaching classes?"

"Teaching…" Harry said thoughtfully. That was an idea. He'd rather liked teaching.

"Because there's a lot of interest," she said. "A lot. More than a lot. I've never really put a lot of thought into magic before. But since that fire the school's been buzzing. They all reckon you were the one that put it out and you put it out by magic."

"They'd be correct," Harry said offhandedly. She had brought up an interesting idea. He couldn't deny that the lack of magic made him very uneasy, especially with Voldemort on the loose.

A bell rang somewhere. Hannah jumped. "That's my cue," she said, grabbing her bag that was sitting next to the door frame. "See you around…Professor." She grinned and left.

Harry watched her leave thoughtfully. 'Professor' she'd called him…

xxxxxxxxxx

Voldemort regarded the city thoughtfully. It had caused him more pause than he would have liked. It wasn't simply something he could burn to the ground as he'd done the last time.

London…

He needed London. Of course he needed it. It was where the Ministry was located. He needed the Ministry, so he needed London.

He wouldn't deny that the lack of Muggles in this new world made him fairly giddy. The vast array of lost knowledge was just another plus.

He'd decided that despite his annoyance at not having a great foe to defeat, it was far easier to rule a mass of ignorant fools than educated ones.

But to rule anyone, he first needed to rule the Ministry.

Which brought him back to London.

He'd learned a great deal about this new world by forcibly extracting it from the minds of his less devote followers. There had been more than one that baulked at the idea of destroying that little town. Voldemort had discovered (upon emptying their minds to sate his thirst for knowledge) that they had not expected him to be so violent.

The fools should have read their history.

He knew now, however, that the communication systems and technology were very advanced. He wouldn't have had anyone to slaughter had his minions not disabled the teleporters. He frowned slightly. He had acted perhaps too rashly upon his release from his earthly prison. It made no difference, he reminded himself. There was truly no one who could stand against him.

Certainly not the Ministry.

And yet...

Slash and burn was not his usual style. He would much prefer to infiltrate the Ministry, control the Ministers and lead them into their own destruction. It may be unnecessary, but it would certainly be more fun.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"You must understand, Mr. Crocker, how impossible your request seems to me."

The Minister frowned. "It's perfectly straight forward…sir." Crocker seemed to have a bit of difficulty saying Harry's name. "I would like you to teach a small group of Ministry officials to be like the Aurors of old. You yourself have been through training. I expect you remember much of it?"

Harry was silent for a moment, playing with the glass paperweight on Grander's desk.

"It would be impossible," Harry said, shaking his head. "You have no one with even the bare rudiments of magical practice. To be an Auror requires not only Ministry training, but high marks in many different courses while in school. I'm afraid the current standards of the school systems are simply too low."

Crocker frowned, but seemed to take Harry's words seriously. "What I need," he said slowly. "Is some idea of what is coming, and a person or group of people willing and able to defend ourselves from the onslaught. Is there any way this can be accomplished?"

Harry considered Crocker's words. "The only person who I have talked to with any idea of the magical abilities of the past is, well, Professor Grander."

Crocker stared at him, clearly wondering if Harry was joking. "Are you suggesting we train _teachers_?" He frowned at his choice of words. "What I mean, of course—"

"I understand," Harry said, smiling slightly. "And my answer is no. I am suggesting you choose people with some training or knowledge of magical history. I would also request that they are in some sort of reasonable physical condition. Auror training works every aspect of a person."

Crocker smiled and stood. "I'm assuming that that means you'll do it."

Harry sighed and realized that he'd just agreed to do it. "I do accept. But with one condition."

"Name it."

"You give me a teaching post at Hogwarts."

Crocker blinked in surprise. "What do you want to teach?"

Harry raised his eyebrows.

Crocker nodded. "Of course. It's done."

"Thank you, Minister," Harry said. "And I hope that I don't need to prevail upon you the importance of keeping my identity a secret. Voldemort will soon have spies within the Ministry, if he doesn't already. Make sure the people that you choose for me are not working for him."

Crocker frowned at Harry's warning, but nodded. "I hadn't anticipated that. I'll be sure to check."

Crocker made to leave, but Harry stopped him. "This," he said, holding out a piece of computer paper with Harry's own handwriting on it. "Is a list of signs that tell if a person is under the influence of the Imperius Curse. You must be very careful now to make sure any important information does not fall into the wrong hands."

Crocker nodded, thanked Harry, and left. Harry leaned back in Grander's chair and turned his gaze towards the ceiling, a small smile on his face. Headmistress Chiden would be furious.

"Hey, Harry."

Harry glanced up. Grander had returned. He'd left to give Harry and the Minister some privacy. He'd also finally stopped using Harry's whole name.

"It's Neville, remember?"

"You just don't look like a Neville, somehow," Grander said with a smile. "Anyway, how would you like to take some time off?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"I've been thinking," Grander said. "That you understand about the present as we understand about the past. I thought it might be useful for you to take a look outside for a while."

Harry glanced towards the window, but knew that that wasn't what Grander had in mind. He considered the idea.

"It's a lot different than Hogwarts, then?"

Grander laughed. "You couldn't even begin to imagine."

Harry sighed and stood up, but he couldn't really deny that he'd love the chance to go stretch his legs. He felt rather like his whole world had decreased into the size of two rooms: his and Grander's office, along with an occasional trip to the kitchen. In his effort to safeguard his identity, he'd tried very hard to minimize his contact with the students and other teachers. He knew that teaching a class would probably destroy some of his work, but he'd be careful. Besides, he'd never been good at sitting still.

"I'll do it," he said. "Where are we headed?"

"Hogsmeade," Grander said. "Simple, close to home, and will give you a good idea what the outside world looks like. And we're transporting."

Harry frowned. "What does that involve?"

"Breaking down your entire body into its molecular forms, then copying your molecules onto the attached molecules on the other end, effectively reassembling you."

"In other words," Harry said, feeling rather ill. "I'm apparating."

Grander's face broke into a wide smile. "Suit yourself. Wait about five minutes. That will give me time to get to the teleporters."

Harry, feeling devilish, pulled his wand out of his pocket and walked to where Grander stood, looking nervously at Harry's armed hand. Harry clapped a hand on Grander's shoulder, waved his wand, and felt himself suddenly compressed into a tube, Grander right beside him.


	9. Chapter 9: Unsettling Arrangements

A/N: Sorry about the long wait for this one. Life got in the way. Technically I could have made this two chapters because it's so long, but I thought my readers deserved a long one after the wait you've been through. So here I am, back from the dead.

Chapter 9: Unsettling Arrangements

"_That_," Grander gasped out. "What _not _necessary."

Harry grinned and looked around, ignoring Grander's bent over form. "Calm down, Grander. You just saved five minutes of your life." He winced, remembering how nice Dumbledore had been to him his first time at side-along apparition. Ah well, Grander was a grown man.

His eyes seemed to betray him everywhere he looked. People walking at a perfectly calm pace seemed to be whizzing by. What originally appeared to be dirt beneath his feet was hard and unkickable. What appeared to be perfectly clear glass windows (you could see the contents of the store right through them) had advertisements scrolling across them.

Harry looked up and felt relieved to see that the sky hadn't changed colors since his last check.

Grander seemed to be coming around. He had managed to straighten himself and was pointedly keeping out of Harry's reach.

"Moving sidewalks," Grander said, pointing to the feet of the strangely moving people. Harry realized that indeed they were walking on moving ground. He frowned. "Did you already have those in your times?"

"Certainly not," Harry said, frowning. "What's this stuff then?" He kicked the hard ground at his feet.

"Organic concrete," Grander explained. "It biodegrades from the bottom. Every ten years or so the town puts another layer on. No need to pull the first layer up. Takes about two days."

"Impressive," Harry said. He noticed that, biodegradable or not, no plants were growing on it. Plant life was confined to neat gardens out of the way of pedestrian traffic.

"There's more to see," Grander said, grinning suddenly in anticipation. "Come on."

Harry and Grander spent most of the day in town. Harry saw some of the most impossible things, and, though he hated to admit it, found himself enamored with Robots, Inc. He had never even imagined robots of such color and variety. There were robots that did the housework (Dishes cleaned instantly! Food prepared in seconds! Even drops the kids off at school!), but Harry also saw robot house pets (No mess!) that honestly looked like the real things. A golden retriever (Also available in blue, pink, and beige!) licked his hand. Harry watched in surprise as the slobber dried before his very eyes.

"It's actually an alcohol based hand lotion," Grander told him, grinning at Harry's expression. "Lower evaporation temperature _and_ leaves your hands feeling smooth."

What impressed Harry most, however, was the human robots. Harry had been ready to leave when Grander tapped him on the shoulder, pointed towards the shopkeeper, who had just finished ringing up a customer. "Ask him his model," Grander whispered.

"His _what_?" Harry asked, perplexed.

Grander pushed him forward and Harry felt the man's eyes on him.

"May I help you, sir?"

"Er…what's your…er…model, sir?"

"I'm an Increst 500," replied the man without batting an eye. "Designed with all standard safety features, recharging cells, holographic matrix, and easy upgrade access."

"Afternoon, Sam. My friend has been living under a rock for the last 100 years," Grander said with a very convincing suffering grin. "Can you demonstrate your holographic matrix?"

"Anything for a friend," said the man with a smile. He closed his eyes and his entire body seemed to ripple. The next second Harry was staring at a brunette woman in her late thirties. She smiled at Harry's startled expression. "Under a rock, you say?"

"More or less," said Grander with a grin. "Grew up with a conservative aunt and uncle."

She nodded sympathetically. "Well, just because I've known Grander for so long, I'm willing to give you a free gift."

Harry stammered a refusal. He wasn't quite sure how to react, now that he realized he was talking to a robot. His unease only made her smile wider.

She looked at Grander. "We've just got in an entirely new shipment of pet supplies. I can build you anything from a snake to a horse."

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't really _need _a horse…

"What about birds?" Grander asked, suddenly very interested. Harry thought he knew where this was leading.

"Hummingbirds to Ostriches," she said with a smile.

"Owls?"

"I don't think I need—" Harry began. Grander started ringing.

"Sorry," Grander said, pulling out a thin flat rectangle. He held it to his ear. "Grander here." He turned away.

"What sort of owl do you have in mind?" the woman asked, turning to Harry.

Harry was about to refuse when he suddenly felt like he could very much use an owl companion. He thought for a moment. "Snowy," he decided.

"How big?"

There were options? "Er…medium?"

The woman seemed to understand his problem. She put her hand on a screen that was facing towards her and pivoted it around its neck. Then she held out her hand. "Finger, please."

Grander put his hand over his phone. "He doesn't have implants, Sam."

The robot woman,_ Sam_, Harry told himself. Looked at him, surprised. The she nodded. "I didn't realize you meant _that _conservative. Were they those my-body-is-a-temple religious types?"

"Something like that," Harry said.

"I've got your back," she said with another smile. Then, before Harry's eyes, she lifted up the fingernail of her right index finger to reveal a small, perfectly square hole. She pulled a wire from behind the desk and, well, there was no other way to put it. She plugged herself in.

Harry could only stare incredulously.

The screen erupted to life, and a full sized holographic owl appeared, suspended in midair. It ruffled its feathers and stared at Harry with large brown eyes.

"Speak," the woman said.

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away. A friend that he hadn't thought about in a very long time had suddenly made her way into his mind.

"Amber eyes," Harry said. The picture changed to match. He held his arm under the holograph, thinking. "A little smaller," he decided. "Can you change the markings on the back?"

She frowned. "I can go through the list of common markings, but you'd have to be plugged in if you want something specific."

The owl's markings changed. Harry stopped her on the second one.

"That's it."

"Personality?" Sam asked.

"Surprise me."

She nodded approvingly.

Grander's call was finished. He was looking tense. "We need to leave soon, Neville. We've got business at the Ministry. Sam," he said. "I'd very much like that bird to be quite hardy. Weatherproof, actually. I'm willing to pay more."

"Nothing doing," Sam said with a shake of her head. "I'll fix her up. She'll be ready for the Royal Mail."

Harry grinned, thinking that this was a very accurate assessment, but Grander paled.

"What did you say?"

Sam lowered her voice. "There have been rumors, Grander. Of course there have. We're not far from the school. I've downloaded a thing or two about that time period, how could I have not, being friends with you? And I can see his scar. Plain as day. You think hair stops my eyes?"

"You're to tell no one, Sam. Not a sole. No one's supposed to know."

"Then you had better keep him away us," she said, clearly a warning rather than a threat. "Because that mark on his forehead is about three degrees hotter than the rest of him. Enough to have attracted my attention the second he walked into the shop."

Grander cursed quietly. "I hadn't even considered…is your scar burning, Harry?"

"It's Neville," Harry said, frowning. "And yes. It hasn't stopped for a second since I've been back."

"You should have said something!"

"There's nothing that can be done," Harry said with a shrug. "We can only hope Voldemort hasn't noticed my mind yet. I think we're probably lucky on that point. If he knew, he'd have attacked already, while I've been disorientated and unprotected."

Grander looked about to respond, but shook his head. "There's no time. We've got to get to the Ministry at once. The Minister believes he's discovered some spies."

That had Harry's attention.

"We'll have to teleport," Grander informed him, then held up a hand to forestall Harry's argument. "It's a lot further away than Hogsmeade and it changed its location about 700 years ago. Also, the Minister has sent me the code to beam directly into his private office chambers so no one sees you that shouldn't."

Harry had to accede the point.

Despite Grander's skin crawling explanation of teleportation, Harry barely felt a thing. He saw a flash of light and then found himself standing behind a desk in a circular room with several bookshelves.

"Congratulations," Grander said with a smile. "You're now made of completely different molecules than you were one second ago. Any superfluous cuts and scrapes should have been healed in passing."

Harry looked down at himself. He didn't _feel _any different.

"Another reason for the suits," Grander explained. "Having the molecules that comprise all different kinds of fabrics are hard to come by for every single teleporter. People just don't have cotton molecules lying around, you see."

Harry looked at him incredulously.

Grander didn't seem to notice. The office door opened across the desk from them and the Minister walked in. He closed the door abruptly behind him.

"Excellent, you've made it." He hurried around his desk to shake hands with both of them. "I'm probably just being paranoid, you see, but since you gave me that list of Impervious Curse symptoms, I've been seeing them everywhere. Add to that the twelve people have already failed the lie detector tests…" he shook his head helplessly. "I find myself simply unable to believe the numbers. That's why I called you."

"Take me to see them," Harry said. "I see what I can do."

The Minster led them through another door that Harry hadn't noticed. This door led to an elevator.

The entered and Harry frowned slightly at the vast number of buttons lining both sides of the elevator's wall with the door. There must have been fifty on each side.

The Minister punched one and the doors slid shut. Even Grander was looking around with interest.

"I've never heard of such an elevator," Grander said, his voice impressed.

"You still haven't," Crocker said sharply. Grander's mouth snapped shut. Crocker turned to Harry, holding up his wrist and punching buttons on his suit's bracelet.

Harry's own bracelet buzzed next to him.

"I've sent you a Ministry uniform," Crocker informed him. "I would prefer that no one associate you with Hogwarts. It may give too much away."

Harry held up his bracelet and looked at it uncertainly. Grander smiled slightly, reached over and hit a button. Harry saw a flash of silver suit before he was suddenly wearing solid black Ministry attire.

A moment later the doors opened into a white carpeted hallway with walls made of tinted glass. The stepped out and the elevator slid shut behind them, leaving nothing but a blank white wall in its place.

"This is where we're housing the suspects," Crocker explained. Harry realized that the tinted glass walls revealed small rooms with a table and chairs. In each small room was a person.

"This hallway has the people who failed the lie detector test," Crocker explained. He led them to the end of the hallway and through another door. "This room," he said with a sigh. "Houses the people whom I believe to be under the influence of the Impervious Curse."

Harry could hardly believe it. The door led to a much longer glass hallway, but instead of neat rooms with tables and chairs, there were one meter by two meter cells with only a chair for the person inside to sit. Harry stared. There were surely over a hundred cells here…

"There are one hundred and forty-five," Crocker said, his voice slightly incredulous. "And there are only 8 empty cells."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wearily, Harry motioned for the next person to be brought to him. His wand felt heavy in his hand. One hundred and thirty seven people. It was getting late and he'd only see fifty-seven.

Unfortunately, Harry thought, as he watched a bewildered woman being politely escorted from the room, Crocker had been mostly accurate. He'd only met one person out of the nearly sixty people who was curse free. Apparently his wife had died the day before and his personality change was one of grief. He had left, muttering about his rights.

Harry took a moment to stretch his arms. Crocker had assured him that each person's memory of this event would be erased and rewritten. No one would remember seeing him.

Harry could barely believe the sheer number of people who were already cursed. He hadn't even been able to see the potential Death Eaters yet. There were twelve, he remembered with a frown. Twelve people curse almost one hundred and forty people? Unlikely. There were doubtlessly more who had managed to fly under the radar.

The only blessing, Harry thought, as two Ministry officials escorted an elderly balding man into the room, was that the spells themselves were rather uninspired, as though the people working them hadn't had much practice. They were fairly easy to remove and, as Crocker had proven, rather simple to spot.

Glad for his Auror training, Harry nodded politely to the man in front of him.

"Can you give me your name?"

"Arnold Bates."

"Can you tell me a little about your family?"

"I have a wife and two children." His voice was monotonous.

"Can you tell me who cursed you?"

The man was silent for a moment. "I do not know."

Harry sighed. Simple though the curses were, very few people had gotten a look at their attacker. They weren't to be found so easily.

Harry pulled out his wand. The man sat there, his blank eyes staring at something on the wall behind Harry.

Harry muttered the Impervious counter curse and the man seemed to be waking up from a daydream. He blinked at Harry, looking bewildered.

The attackers must have given their victims very simple instructions, such as, "find this piece of information" or "pretend you didn't notice anything." In order to have an effective curse, one needed to fill the victim's head with everything it needed to continue its life without attracting notice. The most powerful curse Harry had ever had to lift had been from the child of a Death Eater. Because the father had known the child so well, he'd been able to make his curse practically invisible.

These new cursers didn't even have the sense to tell their victims not to identify them.

"Where am I?" the elderly man asked, his voice quavering. "How did I get here?"

Harry signaled to the waiting Ministry officials outside the tinted glass.

"Everything will be explained to you," Harry said. "If you'll only wait one moment."

No one came in. Harry motioned again. Nothing. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"Sir," he said slowly. "You may want to wait here for a second. I'm afraid something is delaying the gentlemen outside."

He got to his feet, cursing the tinted glass. He saw himself reflected in it, looking cool and collected as he'd been taught in Auror training. Inside he was buzzing.

His hand was almost on the doorknob when something slammed against the door. The man behind him yelled in shock.

"Where have you taken me? What's going on?"

Harry didn't have time for him. In a flash his wand was out and the man slumped onto the table, asleep. His fingers gripped it lightly for maximum maneuverability.

Slowly, carefully, knowing that he was highly vulnerable, blinded as he was by the glass, he put his back to the door, careful to keep his breathing steady. His ears searched for any hint of noise through the door. Silence. Harry couldn't remember, however, if the door was sound proof.

Unfortunately, the closest hand to the doorknob was Harry's right hand, which was also gripping his wand. He adjusted his grip and, taking a deep breath, threw open the door. He ducked low, stepping into the hall, thinking to hide behind the door—

CRASH!

A spell shot over Harry's head, hitting the door and splintering it into a thousand pieces. Voices shouted loudly from the end of the hall by the door leading to those who failed the lie detector test. Somewhere inside Harry knew who had come to collect his followers, but he pushed the thought away. Now he had to stay alive.

Having lost the cover of his door, Harry turned to face his attackers, wand held ready. He was fleetingly conscious of how terribly his black Ministry attire stood out amongst the white washed walls and carpet.

"_Protego!_"

A shield shot up in front of him, barely stopping the two curses that were aimed at him. They bounced off. One of them blew a sizable chunk in the wall.

The shouts grew louder and Harry's eyes zoned in on two people, also in Ministry black, who suddenly looked shocked to see him. Harry's wand whipped in front of him, sending two stunners their way. One hit dead center and the man fell back, knocking his head of the wall behind him. The other dodged out of the way, ducking through the door and out of sight.

Harry frowned. He should have been quicker. But of course. His body was around eighteen. He hadn't been through Auror training yet. His muscles hadn't reached the finely trained hone required of Aurors.

If he lived through this, he would have to rectify that problem.

He moved forward, towards the door. His right hand held his wand ready, his left flickered over the buttons on his suit's bracelet, trying to find something less conspicuous. He ended with his grey Hogwarts uniform. It was the least obtrusive.

He neared the door and heard voices.

"—Cast some sort of shield!"

"I see."

Harry's heart contracted painfully in his chest. The soft, cruel voice had hissed through Harry's nightmares his entire life, normally during periods of great stress. He felt his entire body tensing up and forced it to relax. It was harder to do than he remembered.

His mind raced.

He had two options. Wait here, or go through that door.

Or he could apparate out. He quickly weighed the pros and cons of such a plan. True, it would keep his identity a secret, but it would also leave Voldemort in the middle of the Ministry of Magic.

And it felt too much like running away. Harry tightened his grip on his wand, feeling the lion burn on his chest. A tiny thought bubbled into his mind, telling him that he was being foolish. If he died now, the entire world would be left defenseless.

Perhaps he simply didn't care. Perhaps he actually wanted to die. Perhaps both.

His scar burned into his forehead.

He kicked open the door.

He threw up a shield charm as a precaution and threw himself into the corner in case a shield charm wouldn't work. It did. A curse rebounded against its owner, shooting the man directly through the chest, leaving a gaping wound there. He face twisted into an expression of surprise before he fell back, dead before he hit the ground.

Harry's shield charm flickered out and he let it.

Slowly, he made himself stand straight, stepping out of the corner and into the middle of the hall. Red eyes bore into him, an expression of disbelief and hatred etched onto the snakelike features of the monster before him.

Harry knew that Voldemort would not attack him. Not yet. Not until he had answers.

Harry spoke first, keeping his voice calm, his expression blank.

"So what are we, Voldemort? Doomed to keep going at each others' throats again and again? Repeating the same battles throughout time, past death?"

"You are no older than eighteen," Voldemort said, clearly not listening to Harry. "You yet live, though one thousand years have passed."

"Still kickin'," Harry said blandly. His heart contracted a little. He'd said the same thing to Ginny all those years ago.

"How?" Voldemort asked, his word coming out in a hiss.

"I could ask you the same question," Harry said, keeping his voice confident.

"Is it some sort of time travel?" Voldemort asked. "Or do you exist at all? Perhaps you are nothing more than an illusion, a hologram these Ministry fools have created?"

"Holograms can't use magic. Hell, the wizards can't even use magic."

Harry was under the impression that Voldemort was deeply struggling to understand what was happening. Something told Harry to press his advantage. Something else told him to wait.

"Why did you come back?" Harry said quietly. "Why can't you ever be content to simply die like the rest of us?" There was no malice in his words. It was an honest question.

Voldemort seemed to pull himself together. "It is of no consequence."

"Of course it is," Harry said, smiling faintly a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's eating at you and I can see it." He straightened, his wand still held in his hand, ready, but lowered. "Why do we still do this?" He whispered. "God knows I'm just as tired as you are."

"You know nothing," Voldemort hissed. Harry's wand jerked back to the ready. He had known that his words would fall upon deaf ears, but they'd come none the less.

Harry felt his wand humming in his hands, recognizing its brother. Voldemort's wand whipped across his body. Harry felt the walls on either side of him break from their supports, crushing together with him in the middle. He disappeared.

He heard the crash in front of him, as he reappeared behind Voldemort's back. He waved his wand in front of him and the debris rose into the air, summoned to Harry by way of Voldemort. Voldemort created a shield in front of him, holding it steady with one hand as he turned to face Harry. The debris burned to ash as it hit Voldemort's shield.

The windows on either side of Harry exploded. Harry barely had time to raise a shield. He felt glass tinkle to the floor around him, robbed of its kinetic energy as it hit Harry's shield.

Harry's scar was pulsing, fit to burst. Voldemort's rage was so extreme, so uncontrollable that it seemed to suck the air out of Harry's lungs and cloud his vision. This was not helpful, as Harry already knew that his new body was limited. It had never gone through Auror training.

Harry twisted and vanished again, trying to dodge Voldemort's attacks rather than hit them head on. Harry felt Voldemort's rage beating in against his shields, uncomfortably close. Voldemort was channeling his emotion into his magic—not a good combination for Harry.

Harry appeared again, almost sorry to leave the painful squeeze of Apparition. It was so much more comfortable than the crushing pain and anger Harry felt coursing through him with Voldemort's proximity.

Voldemort was on him in an instant and it was all Harry could do to block lesser hexes and dodge the bigger ones. Holes riddled the walls with every missed curse. Harry did note, under his pain and Voldemort's anger, that Voldemort seemed to be avoiding use of the Killing Curse. This, Harry thought, was at least some reprieve.

Harry vanished again, appearing, he had anticipated, behind Voldemort.

It didn't work.

Harry fell to the floor, every muscle in his body zapped of its energy. Even his eyelids dropped closed. Harry felt Voldemort's excitement and triumph course through him.

Harry himself felt nothing at all. Death. Again.

A small indignant spark lit in his chest. No. Not now. Not by _him._

But with his body paralyzed, there was nothing he could do.

Concentrating all of his inner strength, Harry managed to open his eyes a fraction of an inch.

Voldemort had put down his wand, but hadn't moved any closer to Harry. Confusion coursed through Harry, Why wasn't he dead? Why didn't Voldemort kill him?

Voldemort's anger was completely gone. Vanished. Replaced with triumph, elation. Voldemort's mouth twisted into a smile. He moved toward Harry, but didn't raise his wand.

Through his half closed eyes, Harry say Voldemort bend down in front of him. Icy fingers gripped Harry's chin and the pain in his scar intensified. Red eyes filled Harry's vision and for the briefest moment Harry's resolve wavered. His eyes slid shut.

"None of that, now," Voldemort hissed. A hand lightly slapped Harry's face and Harry forced his eyes open again. The pain Harry felt at Voldemort's touch combined with the effort it took to keep his eyes open under Voldemort's curse was roughly equivalent to an attempt to carry a full grown man upstairs on two broken legs. It was excruciating. But Harry kept his eyes fixed on Voldemort's.

"You haven't aged a day," Voldemort marveled, turning Harry's head from side to side. Voldemort's anger had been replaced with disbelief and another emotion that Harry had never, in his entire life, expected to feel from Voldemort: a strange happiness. It wasn't a triumphant happiness. It wasn't a twisted happiness. It was the genuine emotion. _Happiness._

Harry was sure that the pain must be making him hallucinate.

"Let's take a look, shall we?" Voldemort said softly.

Harry knew it was coming, but had no means to stop it. What little Occlemency he had learned during his Auror training was no where near strong enough to resist Voldemort's intrusion. He found himself once again in the grave yard, feeling his body burning, fire everywhere. The image of his own tombstone filled his mind. Voldemort seemed to hesitate on it, taking it in.

Then the memories pushed back, to before the fire. Curse or not, the pain was unbearable and Harry's throat emitted a strangled yell. Voldemort pressed harder, but either the memories were gone, or they were so deeply buried in Harry's mind that they could not be found. No memories of Harry's death surfaced. No fleeting images of himself dying. Whatever had killed him in his first life—old age, a curse, disease—any mention of it was gone. Harry vaguely heard Voldemort hiss, vexed.

So Voldemort pushed further. Images of Ginny, of the children. Of Ron and Hermione. Of his work as an Auror. Everything came tumbling out beneath Voldemort's invasion. Buried memories, the good memories, the bad memories, forgotten memories…

For a brief instant, Harry caught a glimpse of an older Ginny, the oldest that he remembered her. She was crying…

Voldemort seized on this memory, trying to force out the cause of Ginny's tears. Nothing came.

Harry felt the pain in his head subside as Voldemort released Harry's chin with a sigh. He felt his head droop forward, the muscles in his neck too relaxed to hold it up. Harry realized that his eyes had closed again and he forced them open.

"What a pathetic pair we make," Voldemort said with a sigh. He stood up, brushed debris off his robes, and moved away from Harry. "I, who simply wants to live, and you, who they will not let die. Forced to struggle eternally against each other throughout time."

Harry had nothing to say to that. Even if he did, he would not have been able to with Voldemort's curse holding him.

"This world is an abomination," Voldemort hissed, anger flaring briefly. Harry didn't even try to speak. What was Voldemort planning? Why wasn't he dead?

"What is life, Harry Potter, without magic? Answer me that. It is _nothing_. This," Voldemort gestured vaguely around him. "This is the ultimate indignity. Finally we have a world of our own, a world where we have no need of hiding and cowering in corners. And what did they do with it?"

Hating himself for it, but unable to deny simple truth, Harry found himself, for the first time in his life, honestly agreeing with Lord Voldemort.

"Surely you understand, Harry Potter," Voldemort continued, quietly. "Why I cannot kill you."

Harry was sure he had heard incorrectly.

"You and I, tainted as we are," Voldemort continued. "Are the only remaining wizards in the entire world. To kill you would be a crime against myself." Voldemort knelt in front of Harry again. Pain seared through Harry's scar as Voldemort forced Harry's eyes to meet his. Happiness was coming through the scar again, and Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I will leave you," Voldemort said. "And you will not follow. You will stay here, teaching magic, breathing life into a dead world. I have no need to stay here, with a Ministry that can't defend itself, with a people who are worse than Muggles. My followers and I will leave."

Voldemort stood up again. Harry's head fell forward again, but not before he caught sight of Voldemort, wand in hand.

"See you around, Harry Potter." He vanished.

Harry's eyes fell closed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Tada! Fans of my original will notice a definite difference in plot devices. I like this better. :-) Review!


	10. Chapter 10: Risky Behavior

A/N: Back from the dead with a much awaited chapter!

I'd like to say thanks to everyone. I've gotten a huge number of visitors and hits, even in the last couple months when I haven't been posting ANYTHING. :-)

Also, I'm looking for a beta reader, because I hate editing. You wouldn't have to do a lot, since I post so infrequently, but it would be nice to have someone check for continuity issues and such. Thanks!

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Chapter 10: Risky Behavior

Gabby Terris sighed and pulled her Computing textbook towards her. Randy and Gayvin had been going on and on for _hours _about their summer session at Hogwarts. She had to admit that she was glad that they'd finally developed an interested in _something_, but their incessant chatter about _magic_ was starting to grate on her nerves. As though magic held any _real _advantages to technology. With a simple set of numbers and letters Gabby had the power to create an entire fantastic world in which to live. With a certain twinge of an already existing circuit board she could change the entire function of a piece of machinery without destroying its initial design.

Magic couldn't do _that._

"And do you remember when we were trying to learn how to disarm," Randy said, laughing. "And Hannah kept hitting the person next to her?"

Gayvin laughed. "I swear she couldn't hit something that was two feet in front of her!"

Gabby sighed again and pushed her lesson plans away. She clearly wasn't going to get any work done.

"When are you meeting next?" she asked.

"Two days from now," Randy answered. "But we're supposed to train between now and then."

"More runs around the lake?" she asked, hoping her distain wasn't blatantly apparent in her voice.

Gayvin grinned. He had heard it. "Potter says it isn't enough to cast spells, we have to be able to avoid the bad ones and fight off the ones that hit us. To do that, we have to be strong in mind _and _body."

Gabby sighed. She'd heard it before. "You know, with technology, you don't even have to be present when you make attacks," she said. "You can be hundreds of miles away. In fact, you don't even have to be paying attention. You can just _program_ your attack to go off when you want it to."

"Blah blah," Randy said dismissively. "Magic can stop your machine from working with a flick of the wand."

"Only if you know it's there," Gabby argued. "And if you can make the attack come within the enemy's own system, they won't know they need to disable the system until it's too late!"

"Voldemort doesn't have a _system_," Randy said with a sigh. They had had this argument many times before. "He uses magic. _Only _magic. When the time comes, magic is what's going to bring him down."

It was times like these that Gabby most sincerely wished that her plans weren't so entirely confidential. These two wouldn't be quite so confident if they knew what she knew. To relieve the temptation to talk, she instead changed the subject. "I don't see what all the fuss is about anyway. Voldemort's disappeared. He's been gone for five years now and he's showing no signs of coming back." She forced herself to stop tapping her pen, a habit of hers when she was agitated, and one that Randy and Gayvin knew well.

They seemed not to notice. "Oh, he'll be back," Randy said confidently. "Count on it."

Gayvin was frowning at Randy. "Gabby's got a point. Why would he want to come back and destroy everything now that we've finally got magic going again?"

"Because he's _evil_," Randy said, rolling his eyes. "That's what evil people do, isn't it?"

"But he's super smart," Gabby interjected. "Like rocket scientist smart, if you'll pardon the colloquialism. He's not a mindless killer."

"And if history's any measure," Gayvin said. "He's brutally efficient at getting exactly what he wants."

"Except when Harry Potter stands in his way," Randy said with a proud grin.

Gayvin shook his head. "You're not asking the right questions. You should be asking, what does he want?"

"Well we know that, don't we?" Randy said impatiently. "He wants the rule the world!"

"Wrong," Gayvin said flatly. "What he wants is a world worth ruling. That's why he's gone. That's why he's left Potter to his own devices, building up an army like he is. He's not interested in fighting right now. He's interested in bringing magic back!"

Gabby had heard enough. "If we're done playing 'get in Voldemort's head,' I suggest we turn our attention to lunch."

Ten minutes later found them firmly entrenched at the teacher's table in the Great Hall, digging into the ham and potatoes that the kitchens had prepared. Gayvin and Randy had resumed their chatter over their most recent magic lesson and Gabby was once again making minute changes to the next semester's lesson plans. None of them were paying attention when the man himself sat himself down beside them.

"I'm glad _you_ thought it was funny," Potter said, an annoyed expression on his face. "It took me the better part of an hour to convince Lisa to let me fix her nose from where Hannah's off-target spells kept bludgeoning her. I swear, these new recruits seem to think magic is all explosions and bright lights!"

Despite having known about Potter for five and a half years, despite being part of his very first recruitment of training Aurors, and despite being on speaking terms with him for the better part of that time, all three fell into awed silence as he sat down, suddenly having forgotten completely about their pre-Potter conversation.

Everyone was like that with Potter. No one could shake that mysterious air he seemed to have. It was as though the very air around him was alive with the ancient mysteries of magic past. It was extremely intimidating.

Only Professor Grander seemed immune.

"It doesn't help that most of your teaching is offensive magic. Maybe if you'd bothered to learn any healing magic you'd have changed people's opinions by now," Grander said, piling potatoes on his plate.

"I learned enough to get me by," Harry said, frowning. "And what I learned I've already taught to the Hospital Wing. Hannah's picked up on _that _at least. Maybe soon she'll start mending her own messes!"

Grander laughed. "Hannah's a bright girl and good at what she learns, but I think it'll be a long time before pointing a wand at someone signifies anything but hostility."

Harry frowned and stabbed at his mashed potatoes. It was times like this when he wished that Hermione was here instead of him. What kind of impression was he making for people to think such things?

Grander was right, though. In the last few years, magic had gone from an old joke, to a very serious reality. As much as he tried to represent it in a positive light, the fact remained that Voldemort was out there in the world, teaching magic to his own followers and Harry doubted very sincerely that they were transfiguring rocks into bunnies.

His eyes went to the ceiling above them and he sighed. Try as he might, he had been completely unable to locate the spell that made it appear like the sky outside. Grander had come across a few passages mentioning the enchanted ceiling, and in one of the ancient school logs there was a single line that read, _Prank on Great Hall ceiling got out of hand, Professor Keepler attempting to correct. _ Harry didn't know what the prank could have been, but Professor Keepler was doubtlessly unsuccessful.

"If I could only figure out where they've moved the Department of Mysteries," Harry muttered to himself. "They've probably locked up all the books on practical magic there."

Grander rolled his eyes. "The Minister swears it doesn't exist."

"The Minister probably doesn't know about it," Harry said dismissively. "And I don't trust that Meridel. She's hiding something."

"Why would she do that?" Grander said dismissively. "The Minister ordered every single department to fully corporate with any and all demands that you placed on them."

"Then explain why when I went to visit the Department of Ancient Artifacts, all I found was an empty room!"

"You know I can't," Grander said, frowning at his food. "But I've told you a hundred times, the Ministry is at your disposal. They will fall all over themselves to give you whatever you need. You're just suspicious of the Ministry because they were so antagonistic to your needs last time around!"

"I'm suspicious," Harry said pointedly. "Because I know that every book on magic can't have dropped mysteriously off the face of the earth, and short of a worldwide book burning, there _must _be some books _somewhere._" Upon beginning his quest to reinstate magic, Harry had asked Grander for every copy of every book on magic that he possessed and Grander had obliged, sending Harry hundreds of books in computer form. After going through almost all of them, Harry had finally been forced to concede that _none _of the books had any practical magic in them at all. Thus, about a year ago, he'd started his search for practical magic. With limited results.

"I hesitate to ask," came Gabby's voice, a little nervously. "Because it seems like the most obvious course of action, but have you tried museums or private collections?"

"I've tried several museums," Harry said with a sigh. "Spoken directly to the owners. They're all on the lookout, but there simply isn't a lot in the market."

Gabby seemed to hesitate again, but pushed on. "I know that with the threat of Voldemort, a lot of people have started trying to get their hands on these books. I'd be extremely surprised if you were unable to find anything on the internet."

Silence fell. Harry blinked in surprise. "The internet? That never occurred to me! Where do we find a computer?"

Gabby grinned and rolled her eyes. "Here, I have my phone." She passed it along the table to him.

Harry took it carefully, afraid that the extremely fragile looking object would break. "How does it work?" Harry knew all about cell phones of course, and he knew that even in his time the Muggles had put all sorts of interesting features on them, but this was unlike anything he'd seen.

Grander took the phone from Harry and started poking at the screen with his finger. "This is an extremely complicated piece of machinery," he muttered.

Gabby sighed and rose from her seat. She rescued her phone from Grander and began hitting buttons. A moment later she put her phone on the table, face up. One more press of the button and a hologram of the screen rose into the air for everyone to see. She appeared to have pulled up some sort of search page. Nine miniature pages floated in the air, each showing the homepage of a different site. Gabby considered the different options before hitting the first one on the page. The page expanded and became 3D and Harry was suddenly looking in to a miniature library with thousands of tiny books.

"Audio?" Gabby asked.

"Er…sure," Harry said.

Gabby made some sort of movement with her fingers and a tiny woman appeared.

"Welcome to the Wently Family Library," the tiny woman said. "I'm Joanne Wently and this is my private collection." The figure began to walk among the shelves. "We have hundreds of books in every subject and make." She pulled a book out of the shelf and it expanded so that Harry could read the cover: _A History of Muggles_.

Grander gasped. "I didn't even know there were still copies of that!"

Gabby frowned and poked at something at the library floor. "Let's see if we can speed this process up, shall we?" she muttered. The miniature library vanished and a menu appeared. Listed were different genres of books. Gabby poked "Magic."

The library appeared again, this time without Joanne Wently. A single shelf in the back glowed yellow. Gabby poked it.

A single book appeared in front of them, the same size and shape as a regular book. It was leather bound and clearly ancient. The title read, _Charms and Hexes for Your Befuddling Pleasure._

"That's it!" Harry said excitedly. He reached out to open the book but his fingers slipped through the cover.

"It's locked," Gabby said. "Makes sense. She wouldn't want just anyone to be able to read it. That would make it less priceless." There was derision in her tone. "Let's see what else she has." She put her hand just above the book and pushed it forward. It slid forward and vanished. Another book replaced it: _Potions, Lesson 2._

"I need these books," Harry said. "I need all of them."

Gabby grinned. "This is just one website. There are lots of others. We should make a list and visit them all in turn."

Gayvin grinned on the other side of Gabby. He had Randy had been watching and listening to the conversation. "Field trip?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry looked at the paper in his hand and back up to the large house before them. "This is our last stop," he said. "Joanne Wently. Let's hope she's more useful than the other collections were."

They'd been to seven of the eight private collections on the list. Most of them had already sold their magic books. Apparently the market was excellent.

They proceeded to the house and Harry stepped forward to knock on the door. Two minutes later the door opened.

"I wondered when I might be seeing you," Joanne Wently said. She looked exactly like the miniature, but taller than Harry anticipated and a few more gray hairs in her neatly placed bun. She did not seem at all surprised to see Harry Potter standing outside her door. "I thought it might have been a tad sooner than this, to be honest."

"I'm interested in your collection," Harry said politely. "Specifically your magic collection, as I'm sure you've guessed."

"Well, you're welcome to come and look," she said graciously. "I'll lead you there." They exchanged excited glances.

Harry, Grander, and the Trouble Trio entered the richly furnished house. Harry had very little knowledge of modern design techniques and felt himself unable to properly judge the work of the interior designer, but could nevertheless see quite plainly that the furniture itself was made of extremely expensive materials and very nicely done. While most of the colors were dark, the floor to ceiling windows that covered the outside facing walls let in plenty of light and made the house seem welcoming.

"I'm glad that you've come at last," Ms. Wently was saying. "I've been getting nervous having my magic collection on the internet like that. People talk, you know, and I don't want the wrong people seeing it, especially with times being what they are."

"I understand," Harry said. "It would probably be wise to think about some sort of protection for your books. Voldemort takes what he pleases and his current silence is no guarantee that he'll be silent in the future."

"My thoughts exactly!" Ms. Wently said. "Here we are, the library."

"It looks just like on the internet," Harry said, impressed.

"Not entirely," Ms. Wently said. "I have taken precautions so that my books cannot be easily removed. For example, the shelves that you believe hold magic books actually hold a very wide array of cheesecake recipes."

Randy laughed from behind Harry. "I'd be just about as interested in those as I would in magic books!"

"Like you cook," Gayvin said, rolling his eyes.

Ms. Wently turned to look at all of them. "My collection is extremely private and considerably expensive." For a moment, Harry thought she was rebuking Gayvin and Randy, but she continued. "At this point I would ask that only Mr. Potter accompany me to my magic collection. The rest of you are welcome to move about the library as you please."

Grander and Harry exchanged surprised expressions. Then Grander nodded. "Of course. These are dangerous times."

Ms. Wently motioned for Harry to follow her back out of the library and closed the doors behind them. When she turned to face him, her expression was unreadable. The lighting that had appeared welcoming a moment before now seemed cold and distant. Harry felt himself tense.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Lady's got a lot of books," Randy said, casually pulling one from the shelves to look at it. The title, _Brain Plasticity, the Science that Changed the World_ shone brightly on the glossy cover. Gayvin and Grander looked like they were in heaven.

"I didn't even know this book still existed!" Grander exclaimed. If Randy didn't know any better, he would have said there were tears in his voice.

"Look at this!" Gayvin said, standing on tiptoes to reach a higher shelf.

Randy left them to their searching. He was not particularly interested in books, not like Gayvin. Gayvin loved his magic and his history.

Gabby also appeared aimless. She was walking down the aisles, running her fingers along the spines of the books, not really looking at them. "The thing about technology," she said, when she saw Randy approach. "Is that when they come out with new stuff, the old stuff is obsolete. I couldn't imagine trying to read an old technology book like Gayvin reads his history stuff."

Randy laughed. "I couldn't imagine playing _Quid_ with as much enthusiasm as Gayvin reads his history books." They laughed. Gabby turned to face the shelf that she was in front of and started reading titles. "_What makes a Muggle? _What do you suppose that's about? Biology or Inspirational, do you suppose? Look at this one! _Where Have All the Muggles Gone? A Look at the Several Astronomical Possibilities. _Who reads this crap?"

Randy had stopped listening. Gabby stood in front of him. He could still hear Gayvin and Grander talking to each other a few stacks away. Then who was that person that had just disappeared behind that bookshelf?

His wand was in his hand before he thought about it, his training kicking in. Gabby had noticed his change in demeanor and had stopped making fun of the books.

"What's going on?" She asked, her voice low, but still much too loud.

Randy put a finger to his lips. "Go warn the others," he said, very softly. "We're not alone in this library."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Follow me, please," Ms. Wently said. She led Harry back the way they had come. Before they reached the living room, she took a right and led him down a hall he hadn't noticed before.

"My collection is priceless," she said softly. She opened yet another door and looked at Harry. The door opened to a stone staircase that sloped steeply downward. "Worth more than the castle of Hogwarts and the grounds put together."

"I am willing to pay," Harry said carefully. Ms. Wently clicked on a light and a yellow glow lit up the staircase. Much to Harry's relief, she continued to lead. He didn't like the idea of her at his back.

"Sometimes prices aren't measured in dollars," Ms. Wently said over her shoulder. "A woman like me doesn't need a lot of money."

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up. Who was this woman? What did she want from him? He desperately needed the books, but was beginning to wonder if her price was something he was willing to pay.

They walked down the treacherous stairs in silence. Harry carefully watched around him, noting how different the stairs were from the rest of the house and how new they looked. There was barely any dust, and he doubted that she asked the maid to clean the secret passageway.

Carefully and quietly, he brushed his hand along the wall and felt the hairs on the back of his arm stand up. There was magic here. Real magic. In the walls and in the steps. In the very air. Harry wondered if the entire stairway was made of magic. He couldn't imagine a stairway this long being cut into the original designs of such a modern house.

The footsteps in front of him leveled out and he realized that they must have reached the end of their journey. An ancient oak door stood in front of them.

"I must seem terribly mysterious to you," she said. She sounded slightly out of breath. "But you must understand how much I am risking just showing you this. You're not the first to come here, you know. Not the first to ask."

Harry slipped his wand out of his pocket. He knew now that things were not as they seemed. He had not expected this at all.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Very carefully, Randy moved towards where he had seen the figure. Gabby must have informed the others because in the next moment their chatter abruptly stopped. Randy wished briefly that they wouldn't be quite so obvious about it.

He moved his wand to his other hand, just for a moment, and wiped his sweating palm on his suit. He had never been in a real combat situation before. He'd been in very realistic training scenarios, but never the real thing. Never with real danger.

His heart was beating a mile a minute in his chest. It was thumping so loudly that he was sure someone was going to hear it. He neared the end of the bookshelf and moved his wand, now back in the proper hand, from defensive position into ready position, as he'd been taught.

Bending his knees to make himself a smaller target for attack, he took a deep breath and turned, wand held out, into the aisle.

Nothing.

Had he really seen someone? Maybe it had been a shadow. He had been so _sure…_

There. That had sounded like a foot scraping the carpet. Still unsure, Randy nevertheless treated it as a combat situation. He held himself close to the end of the bookshelf to present a smaller target for any attackers, and held his wand in the altered ready position.

"_Stupefy!_"

A red jet of light came from behind him. Had his head been turned a fraction of a millimeter differently he'd have been hit.

Randy dropped like a rock, touching the floor with his left fingertips to provide fulcrum for his turn and roll. Spells were coming at him from both sides and he knew that his movement was the only thing preventing him from being hit. He needed desperately to get out of the line of fire and assess the situation. Had they walked right into a trap? Had the old lady betrayed them? He couldn't be sure. All he knew was that there were at least two enemies on either side and he seemed to be their target.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ms. Wently looked back at Harry and smiled slightly at the sight of his wand. "And to think, only a few years ago I would have expected a bouquet a flowers from someone who pulled a wand on me. Don't fret, Mr. Potter. You'll not be needing that, I don't think."

Harry was not to be dissuaded, but rearranged his hand position minutely to stun. Ms. Wently turned back towards the door and removed a large ornate key from around her neck. She inserted it into the keyhole and turned. The key moved silently and the door swung open on oiled hinges.

The room beyond was dark, but when the door opened, a lantern flickered to life to reveal a single bookshelf. Like the staircase, the room looked very clean, with no dust or cobwebs as Harry would have expected.

"They're all here," Ms. Wently said. "And I ask that you handle them with care. They are all quite old."

Harry did not move towards the books. "Ms. Wently, I believe that there is a great deal that you are not telling me."

Ms. Wently's grey eyes moved from the bookshelf to Harry. Then, to Harry's great surprise, they began to shine with unshed tears. "You are correct, of course. And I fear that I must trust you, if I am to trust anyone." She lowered her eyes to the floor and composed herself. Taking a deep breath, she looked Harry in the eyes again.

"She is through here." Swallowing, she moved towards a second door, that Harry was sure had not been there before. Ms. Wently held it open for him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Breathing quickly, Randy gripped his right arm hard, trying to stem the blood flow. A spell that had blown apart an entire bookshelf behind him and barely nicked his arm, but a nick had been enough to open a huge gash. Fortunately the explosion had provided cover for his exit. He thought now that he was safe for a second to collect himself. They wouldn't have known where he'd gone in the mess of splintered wood and paper.

What he needed was a plan. He couldn't take these people alone. They needed to regroup. Unfortunately with the blood streaming from his arm, he was leaving a trail that would lead right to them.

Dizzy from blood loss and pain, Randy tore at his suit. The flimsy material proved surprisingly strong and it was only by using his teeth that he managed to cut a strip loose. Tying it one handed was extremely difficult, and the material was entirely unabsorbent, but it put pressure on the wound, which was painful in itself, but seemed to stem the flow somewhat.

He had lost precious time and he knew it. Pulling himself to his feet, Randy made his way down the aisle, trying to be as quiet as possible. His damnable suit was treating his blood the same as it did rainwater. It slid right off, soaking into the carpet and leaving a blindingly obvious trail. He wanted to scream in frustration, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving, trying to control his ragged breathing so it wouldn't give away his position.

There were still sounds of fighting coming from the shelves, so he knew that someone other than him was keeping their attackers occupied.

He came to the end of the shelves and peeked around the corner.

Grander was lying motionless in front of the history books, the last place he'd been before the attack. With a sickening feeling, Randy knew what had probably caused his and Gayvin's sudden silence. He didn't see Gayvin anywhere, though, so he hoped that wherever he was, he hadn't faired as badly as Grander…

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The room Ms. Wently led Harry into was well lit and well decorated, a stark contrast to the dreary room with the bookshelf. But unlike the rest of the house, this room had a very childlike décor, with wildflowers in vases and brightly colored wallpaper depicting a beautiful hillside covered in flowers with trees and mountains in the background.

In the middle of the room, lying on a bed, was an extremely small little girl. She had dark black hair spread out tenderly around her tiny face, as though very carefully placed. Her bedspread was tucked up to her chin. Her skin was pale, almost white, but not sickly. She appeared to be sleeping.

Harry approached the bedside and carefully touched the girl's forehead. It was cold as ice. Feeling mild foreboding, Harry placed his hand centimeters from her lips. He sighed relief when he felt the smallest of breaths.

"You can't wake her up," said Ms. Wently behind him. Her voice carried tears that Harry had yet to see shed. "At least not in any normal way. She's cold like that all the time. I put the blanket there, but what good's a blanket if there's nothing to warm it up? Sometimes I'll sit for hours, just trying to rub some kind of warmth back into her hands…"

"Who did this?" Harry asked quietly.

Ms. Wently shook her head. "He gave me the name Ralph Farthington. I'm good at reading people, Mr. Potter, and I could tell the name didn't roll off his tongue like his real name should have, but I get all sort of people in here for all sorts of business, so I didn't press."

Her eyes landed on the little girl's still form and she when she spoke, her tone was leaden and dull.

"He was charming. Made me laugh, made Elizabeth laugh…" her eyes went to her hands. "He asked me about my magic books. I've had them hidden down here since Voldemort's return was reported on the news. This place," she gestured around her. "Has been here since the making of this house. It's older than it looks. Far older. These rooms appear and disappear when the owner of the house wishes it. It's the perfect hiding place, you see. Only my family knows that it exists. Now, only I. And only I can open it."

"Did you show the man the books?" Harry asked.

"No," Ms. Wently said. "He was a very charming man, Mr. Potter, but I'm older than I look, and I know all about charming men. I told him that times were dangerous, and the books that I carried couldn't fall into the wrong hands."

Her eyes moved to the wall behind them through it. Her voice became softer as though she could see the man in the wall, and was watching him all over again, as she must have that day. "I'm not sure what made it dawned on me that this was not a man to whom I should give my books. It may have been a word, or a gesture. Perhaps some look in his eyes that told me he was lying to me. Whatever it was, I was felt very suddenly and very firmly that my books could not go to him. And I told him so. Elizabeth," her eyes fell on the girl again. "She came in just then with a tray of tea and biscuits. She loves guests, you see. I think sometimes that she must have been very lonely living in this big house with only me…"

She shook her head as though to clear it. "Mr. Farthington, or whoever he was, seemed charmed by Elizabeth. He started chatting to her while she poured his tea, and I thought, "That's not so strange. Everyone who meets Elizabeth is charmed by her." He gave her a piece of candy. I didn't want her to be accepting gifts from strangers, especially this one, but I thought…" Tears entered her voice again. "…I thought how inappropriate it would be to ask her not to eat it with him sitting right there. I recognized the candy. I thought that he couldn't have tampered with the package. I watched her open it."

Ms. Wently was silent for a moment. When she spoke again her tears were controlled. "One moment Elizabeth was chatting happily. The next she was on the floor, pale, cold, unmoving. I cried out, went to her, was relieved when I felt her pulse. But I've never seen anything knock a person out like. It was so fast. Mr. Farthington must have given off some kind of signal because within seconds the house was filled with people. I don't even know how they got in. They tore the place to pieces, while I held Elizabeth in my arms. Pulled over bookshelves, cut through my furniture. They couldn't find the books, of course. I told them the books weren't here, that they were locked away in a vault somewhere."

"What did they do?" Harry asked, when it seemed as though Ms. Wently might not continue.

"They threatened me," Ms. Wently said with a shrug. "Said they'd kill me and Elizabeth both if I didn't tell them exactly where the books were."

"How did you escape?"

Ms. Wently snorted derisively. "The idiots set off the alarms. My library is filled with them, to catch potential thieves. They set off every one of them. About that time the police surrounded the house, they were at the doors, teleporting in, practically crawling through the windows. Fighting broke out but one of the officers managed to get me and Elizabeth to a teleporter. We escaped. The police lost quite a few. They told me afterwards that the intruders were using magic. Dangerous magic. That's when I knew exactly who was interested in my books."

"How long ago was this?" Harry asked.

Ms. Wently looked him straight in the eye. "This was about five years ago, Mr. Potter."

"Why didn't you contact me?" Harry asked, feeling anger well up inside him. "I would have come at once!"

"They've been watching my house," she whispered. "Monitoring my E-mail and phone lines. I didn't know who to call when it first happened, but my attempts to install increased security have all been sabotaged. I try to contact the police but my calls never go through. I created an uproar one night to get an officer sent here, but he…met with an unfortunate accident before he even got back to the station with my report. I feared for Elizabeth's life, unprotected in the hospital, so I brought her home and hid her here. The doctors told me that she had no need of food or water. They can't explain it, but the feeding tubes made her sick. So I've been stuck here, alone and waiting. I fear you'll have more trouble getting out than getting in. They've been waiting for you, too, I'm sure."

"The others!" Harry said, his eyes going to the stairs. "They're unprotected in the library!"

"I couldn't let them come down," Ms. Wently said, shaking her head sharply. "I could trust you alone with the location of my granddaughter."

Harry grabbed the vase next to the bed and dumped the flowers unceremoniously on the floor. He pointed his wand at it and muttered, "_Portus." _He set it back on the bedside table and turned to Ms. Wently. "When you are ready to leave, place Elizabeth's hand on this, make sure it's touching. As soon as both of your hands are touching this vase, it will transport you to Hogwarts, right outside the Hospital Wing. The travel _will not harm _you, though it may be an unpleasant ride. I ask," he waved his wand and the bedspread flew off the bed and tied itself into a pouch. "That you bring the books with you. You will be fully compensated, of course, in whatever means you wish." He started towards the door.

Ms. Wently grabbed his arm before he was out of reach. "Just bring my granddaughter back to me," she said fiercely.

Harry nodded and she released him. Harry had very limited knowledge of the healing arts, but he hoped very sincerely that whoever had poisoned the girl was not overly knowledgeable himself.

He raced up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. It was times like this that he was extremely happy to have his younger body, which, after years of practice, was back to its fighting prime. He doubted very much that he could have made it up the steep stairway at all without it.

When he reached the top, he stepped out of the door, which vanished behind him. Then he grabbed his wand. The hidden rooms had been much too small for what he had planned. Magic prickled his skin as he felt his aura expanding outward, pressing against the walls around him. Vaguely he heard shouting coming from the direction of the library. He tried not to focus on it.

_Pop._ His departure made the tiniest of noises.

CRACK! His arrival did not. Using the air that he had taken from the hallway, Harry hit the floor of the library with tremendous strength, expelling the wind in all directions with the speed of a hurricane.

Yells filled the air as the people filling the library were thrown back against bookshelves.

Harry took one look at their dark robes and did not hesitate. Three people in black were hit with stunners before they could even hit the walls that Harry's wind had thrown them into.

Harry flicked his wand at a bookshelf and a book flew into the air, transfiguring itself into rope as it flew towards Harry. Another flick and the rope writhed through the air, charmed. It hit the ground with a flop and slithered snakelike into the shelves. Harry transfigured one more book before deciding that there were probably more expedite ways of dealing with the intruders.

He cast a shield charm around himself as stunners flew at him from three directions. Doubting that his attackers were well trained in defensive magic, Harry's shield was of a particularly tricky nature, which sent the spells back at his attackers at the exact angle that they had been sent at him. Two yells told him that it had been a wise choice.

That was five down. Harry wondered how many had been sent. He couldn't hear anymore yells in the shelves, so he guessed that whoever was left was not going to attempt a frontal assault. This was probably a good idea on their part.

That being decided, Harry vanished. He reappeared seconds later, wand at the ready, within the shelves, directly behind a figure in black, who was peeking out at the spot Harry had just been. Pleased with his lucky guess, Harry had the woman flat on her face before she even thought to turn.

Six down. How many had they sent?

And where were Grander and the Trouble Trio? He hadn't seen them when he popped in. Had they escaped? He doubted there would still be Death Eaters hanging around if they had gone. Finding them should be his first priority.

He heard a shout and a bump in the aisle next to him and then streams of light. He turned the corner to see another figure in black being taken down by his rope, which was twisting its way around him, wrapping itself around his flailing wrist and pulling it to his side. The man's wand clattered uselessly to the floor. Harry kicked it out of reach and moved past.

As he reached the end of the aisle, his eyes landed on Grander's unmoving form, totally exposed to rows upon rows of shelves. It was a perfect place for an ambush, if there were any Death Eaters left. Harry's eyes landed on the ceiling lights.

A flick of his wand and all the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. Quickly, Harry made his way towards, Grander, ears alert for sounds of movement and particularly for spells. He didn't want to give the Death Eaters' eyes time to adjust, but the terrain was unfamiliar and the situation dangerous, so Harry moved slower than he wanted to.

Grander's form came into focus as Harry's eyes became accustomed to the darkness. Harry knelt by his side and grabbed a book from a nearby shelf. "_Portus_," Harry said for the second time that day. He put the book in Grander's unmoving hand and watched him vanish.

One down, three to go.

Harry stood and moved quickly back into the shelves. With a flick, the lights returned. Harry's heart skipped a beat when he saw what was in the aisle with him.

Blood. And lots of it. And it seemed to be going in a very definite direction. Quietly, Harry followed the trail, it led an impressive distance. Harry followed it down two rows of shelves before finding Randy, pale and shaking clutching his right arm.

He looked relieved to see Harry. "I barely even saw them coming," he said, voice week. "And there's so _many_. They waited until we split up before attacking, and I haven't been able to find anyone. I just saw Grander. Did you see—"

"I saw," Harry said. "And he's back at Hogwarts now, so he's going to be fine. Here, take this." Harry handed him a Portkey and Randy vanished before he could get another word out.

Two down.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry was on his feet in an instant, wand out and ready. It was Gabby. She looked pale and shaken but unharmed. Harry lowered his wand.

"I'm glad to see you," Gabby said. You've gotten most of them. I don't think there's any more in the library. A few of them left, though, and followed you and that Wently woman. Gayvin's over here. He's out cold. Just a stunner, though, from what I can tell."

Harry followed her through the stacks, wand at the ready. From what he could tell, Gabby seemed to be right. He didn't see or hear anything on the way.

Gabby gasped.

Harry's transfigured rope had wrapped itself around Gayvin's still form. Gabby fell to her knees and started trying to pull it off of him, tears in her eyes.

"It's not coming!" She said desperately.

Harry touched her shoulder and gently guided her out of the way. With a tap of his wand, Harry reanimated the rope and it slithered off into the shelves.

"Mine," Harry said apologetically. "I should have been more specific in who I sent it after."

Gabby sniffed behind him. Harry knew how much she disliked magic. Harry, feeling like he had more time now, felt Gayvin for a pulse. It was beating strong. Stunned, like Gabby had thought.

"I hid in the shelves, mostly," Gabby was saying. "No one saw me, no one. I even managed to take out one from behind with my phone. I tweaked it a while back to act as a stunner. I figured in these times you can't be too safe. Killed my battery, though."

Harry transformed another book into a Portkey and put it in Gayvin's hand. "I'm getting you out of here," Harry told Gabby. "Touch this book."

Gabby nodded and complied. She and Gayvin vanished. Harry sat back on his heels and sighed in relief. Now all he had left was the clean up.


	11. Chapter 11: Meaning and Messages

Chapter 11: Meaning and Messages

The hospital wing was in a panic.

They had stuffed everyone into the large room at the end of the hall in order to for the single doctor on duty to better reach her patients. Several of Harry's recruits were trying to help, but since so few of them had any medical training, they were turning into more of a nuisance rather than supplying real aid.

Ms. Wently was sitting in a corner, refusing to let anyone touch Elizabeth, next to an extremely large pile of books wrapped in a bed sheet. The medics had managed to get Grander, Randy, Gabby, and Gayvin onto beds, but there seemed to be no decipherable order in which they were attempting to treat them. Randy's arm was being wrapped in bandages at the same time that one person was taking his temperature and yet another person was checking under his eyelids. All three people were bumping elbows.

Harry started toward them with a frown, but stopped when he heard a voice behind him say, "He's fine. Simple stunner, that's all."

It was Hannah. She must have been summoned when the patients started pouring in. She was snapping closed a light that she had just shone into Gayvin's eyes. Her current patient cared for, he gaze found Randy's botched care and she hurried over.

"We're going to need warm water and more antiseptic," Hannah said, pulling the thermometer out of one of the recruit's hands and the light out the other's.

"Thanks, Hannah," the remaining doctor said as the two scurried away. "I need to finish wrapping his arm to stop the blood flow."

Hannah nodded and started a series of diagnostic spells. The doctor instructed Randy instructed to take slow, deep breaths.

Satisfied that the situation was under control, Harry went to Gayvin's bed to find out what had happened in that library.

Gayvin tried to sit up when he saw Harry, but Harry motioned him back down again.

"You seem to have gotten off easy, Mr. Nort. A stunner? Randy barely escaped with his life."

Gayvin didn't seem phased by the greeting and shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess. Didn't seem like it at the time, though. Bastards didn't even wait five minutes after you left to jump us."

"Where were you when the attack started?" Harry asked.

"Next to Professor Grander," Gayvin said. "They hit him first, but I don't know with what. Provided cover for me, actually." His tone was bitter. "I ducked into the shelves nearby. Didn't get far, though, when I heard someone in the shelves nearby." He shook his head angrily. "Bloody decoy. Someone hit me from behind with a stunner when I was trying to peer through the books. Pretty poor excuse for an Auror, huh?" He drew a ragged breath and his face tightened.

Harry clapped a hand to his shoulder. "You went into battle for the first time and came out alive. No one can ask more from you than that." Harry turned to go check on the others.

"Professor?" Harry turned and saw that Gayvin had sat up quickly and was holding out a book to him. Intrigued, Harry took it.

The words, "_Hogwarts, A History_," shone up at him from the fading cover. He blinked in surprise.

"I found this in the history section," Gayvin told him. "I tucked it under my arm without thinking when I ducked into the shelves. I haven't even had a chance to look inside, but I thought it might be of some help."

Harry flipped open the book and was startled to find that he couldn't read a word of it. It seemed to be written in a language wholly unfamiliar to him. He flipped it closed and smiled reassuringly to Gayvin. "I'll let Grander take a look and see what he can find. You've done well." Gayvin nodded, leaned back and closed his eyes.

Harry headed over to Grander's bed, his mind whirring a mile a minute. _Hogwarts, A History_? This book must be as old as him! In its thousand pages it doubtlessly held the key to all kinds of defenses and charms that used to protect Hogwarts! If it was an updated version, it might even have a list of the spells that Dumbledore used to protect Hogwarts from Voldemort's forces during the last attack!

If he could read it, that was. He frowned thoughtfully, tucked the book under his arm for later, and approached Grander's bed.

"How is he?" he asked the doctor. She had finished wrapping Randy's arm and was checking on Grander. He was lying on his side, though he still appeared to be unconscious.

She shook her head. "Out cold. It's not a stunner either. Whatever it was that hit him left you a message, too."

Gently, she lifted her patient's shirt to show an extremely large bandage covering most of his back. Very carefully, she pried off the fresh adhesive to reveal a gigantic skull, carved into his skin. From the skull's mouth came a snake.

"I'm not surprised you didn't notice any bleeding," the doctor said, covering the wound again. "The cuts are shallow. Normally I'd tell you that there wouldn't be any scars, but I've never seen anything like this. I can't make any promises."

Harry nodded. "Let me take a look at him. A spell knocked him out. I'll see if I recognize anything that can help him."

The doctor nodded and made to leave. "Doctor?" Harry called after her. She stopped.

"The older woman with the unconscious little girl that arrived. Make sure that they are extremely comfortable. Find them rooms within the castle to stay in. Do not attempt to administer treatment to the child. Assure the woman that I will be with her in a matter of minutes."

"And the large pile of books?" the doctor asked, somewhat disapprovingly. "The infirmary is no place for those."

"I can help with that," Gayvin said, sitting up. "I don't think I can stand being in here anymore. And you've got other patients to help."

Harry nodded. "Lisa!" One of Harry's recruits, who was holding unneeded bandages and trying to peer over Hannah's shoulder jumped when she heard her name called. "Gabby!"

"Here," Harry said. Lisa and Gabby hurried over. "Are you injured?" Harry asked, looking at Gabby. She shook her head. "Good. You two and Gayvin take care of these books. I want them counted before they leave the wing and I'm holding you all personally responsible if any of them go missing. Please stack them in my room and close the door behind you." Closing the door would activate Harry's warding spells. "I also want a list of book titles and authors. Do not attempt to open any of the books. They could have protection spells on them."

Lisa, Gabby and Gayvin nodded and hurried over to the pile of books. Lisa began stacking them and counting, and Gabby and Gayvin followed suit. The doctor was speaking to Ms. Wently softly and holding out her hand to help her up. Ms. Wently's eyes found Harry's and he nodded. She got to her feet, Elizabeth still clutched in her arms.

Satisfied that everything else was under control, Harry turned to Grander and pulled out his wand. Tonight promised to be a long night.

---

"You should get some sleep, Professor."

Harry blinked blearily at the woman next to him. Hannah. What was she still doing up? It was nearly five in the morning.

"Everyone else has gone," Hannah said. "You've done all you can do for tonight. You're not helping anyone by staying."

It took a moment for her words to sink in through Harry's foggy brain.

"That's not true," he protested. "There are several other spells I could try. I'm very busy. I can sleep when I'm done."

"I can see that you're busy," Hannah said. In Harry's sleep addled brain she even sounded sincere. "That's why I just caught you sleeping with your head on Professor Grander's mattress."

Harry frowned. So she'd seen him. "I have work to do. Grander won't wake himself up."

"You can't even wake yourself up," Hannah said sternly. "As a doctor in training, I have to ask that you leave the infirmary before you do harm to yourself or my patients."

Harry blinked in surprise. He was quite tired. And achy. All his running around had left him quite sore after hours of standing around.

"Go," Hannah said, bending down to pick up the empty plate that had been Harry's hurried dinner. "He'll still be here in the morning. There's nothing to suggest that his condition is worsening, but plenty to suggest that yours is."

Sighing, Harry got to his feet and stretched his back. Then he ran a hand over his face. He really was tired. "Very well. I'll be back in a few hours."

"You'll be back in eight hours," Hannah corrected. "Minimum. I'll send someone to get you if anything happens at all. You have my word."

Harry nodded and made to leave.

"Professor?"

Harry turned.

"You forgot your book," Hannah said, holding _Hogwarts, A History_ out to him.

Harry blinked in surprise and took it. He must be past the point of exhaustion to have forgotten the strange book.

"Thank you."

Hannah nodded and turned to carry Harry's dishes away. "Eight hours," she said over her shoulder.

Harry smiled slightly. He took a last look at Grander's still form and his forehead wrinkled in worry. Sure he couldn't be of any help as he was, he left the infirmary and headed to his room, thinking over any possibility he hadn't considered yet.

The hex placed on Grander was extremely complex. More complex than he could have expected from anyone in this century, other than himself or Voldemort. But Voldemort had not been in that room. He would have known.

This meant that Voldemort's followers had become stronger than he'd hoped in the passing years. Much stronger.

A sense of helplessness threatened to overwhelm him in his exhausted state. With magic that powerful at their command, how could any of Harry's parlor tricks compete?

He rubbed his eyes wearily. There was nothing good in this line of thought. At least after today Harry had a much better idea of what they were up against. And the kinds of forces under Voldemort's command.

---

A/N: Sorry about the long time to update (as usual). I also want to send special thanks out to TwilightsCalling for beta-ing this for me!!!!


	12. Chapter 12: Dreams and Musings

A/N: Yay summer! More time for writing...

Chapter 12: Dreams and Musings

"I have no desire to be a teacher. Nothing about you or your personal, pathetic quest for knowledge holds any interest for me. Your only purpose here is to find books so that others may learn with minimal effort required on my part." If he heard one more complaint about this new world's lack of magical knowledge, he would personally ensure the man ate his own spleen.

His pathetic face twisted as though he would argue. Argue. With the Dark Lord. Did these insufferable Muggles know no manners? He didn't know when he'd started calling the "wizards" of this century "Muggles," but the term seemed appropriate.

The man, Bohrs, seemed to sense the danger, however, and nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"Good. Then tell me exactly what happened."

"Not a lot is sure, my lord." Bohrs said, opening his folder and scrunching his nose to bring his glasses into better line with the pages. "No one came back."

For the first time in years, Lord Voldemort felt a twinge of excitement. It did not show on his face. "Explain."

"We sent a dozen men to deal with the woman. We've had her under lock and key for years. We've searched her entire house several times and we've had no luck locating the books. With the current prohibition against torture, we've been unable to extract further information from her."

Voldemort leaned back in his chair and allowed a smile to creep onto his face. "A dozen men, you say? All captured? I don't suppose there would be a certain wizard involved in the attack?"

The man's face twisted in anger for a second before smoothing out again. "Some of our best people went in there. I doubt anyone but him could have taken them all out so effectively."

Voldemort said nothing, his thoughts moving quickly. It had certainly taken Potter longer than expected to take the bait. But it seemed that he had at last.

"Very well," he said briskly. "What are the updates on the ten new cities we've re-educated?"

The man squinted at his notes. "Seven are well under way. Three cities are still experiencing riots."

"Which three?"

"Montreal, New York City, and Toronto."

Voldemort looked at the map and put a thin finger to his lips thoughtfully. "I've been expecting more resistance from the northern area," he said.

"They'll be less eager, I think, when winter sets in and they have no heating," Bohrs said quickly. "Your people on the ground have been able to re-educate a great many simply by providing food and clothing. There have been several attacks on your buildings, but the fools can't touch us. All they have left are fire and blunt objects."

Voldemort nodded. "Also expected. Very well. Tell me what news we have of Hogwarts."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry jerked away, sitting up straight, his hand fumbling for his wand. Heart pumping furiously, his eyes landed on his bed curtains and he forced himself to calm. With a shaking hand he wiped sweat off his forehead.

_I'm too old for this,_ he thought darkly, lowering himself back onto his pillow and willing his heart rate to slow its frantic pace. He needed sleep. _Real_ sleep.

He thought over what he'd seen. He'd awoken before he'd heard Voldemort's information on Hogwarts, which was unfortunate, but he'd learned some useful information about the resistance movement, which boded well for his plans tonight.

He wasn't sure he liked the idea that he'd, "taken the bait," but he couldn't worry too much about that now. He had other things to occupy his mind.

The light from his window had somehow managed to get all the way through his curtains and he found that it was bothersome to the point of distraction. Insufferable curtains. He kept meaning to get thicker ones, but he couldn't seem to remember to get that done. It seemed that he always had things left undone. Grander made fun of him for it. Not polite, that. Making fun of an old man because his mind was going

Grander.

Harry sat upright again, his heart resuming its frantic pace. The previous night's escapades came rushing back and he was ripping his curtains back before he could control himself. He forced a deep breath again. Hannah would have sent for him if anything had changed.

"_Balance, Harry," _Ginny had always said to him. _"The world's not on your shoulder's anymore, remember? You can take a minute to catch your breath."_

Oh, Ginny. If she'd only known what was still in store for him. Her heart would break if she could see him now.

He rubbed his eyes and fumbled for his glasses. He was surprised that he wasn't sorer this morning, after all the running around he'd done yesterday. But the things this new body could take always surprised him. No wonder the young always felt invulnerable. They practically were.

He stood up, stretched the sleep out of his bones, and jabbed a button in the wall next to his dresser. "Bilby? Breakfast, please."

"Right away, sir!"

Harry walked to the mirror and stared at his reflection, focusing on the details as he always did, rather than the whole affect. He didn't think he would ever get used to this face again, not after so many years of wrinkles. But puffy eyes were puffy eyes, no matter what age you were, and this morning his eyes certainly had a sleep-deprived quality about them.

He pointlessly tried to smooth down his hair, as he pointlessly tried to smooth down his hair every morning. Back in his own time, it had always seemed unprofessional, but here people couldn't get enough of it. He'd had people fail to recognize him when he'd tried to tame it. Everyone wanted Harry Potter to look like his pictures in the history books.

Which was fine with Harry. That just meant he had less to do in the morning.

The door opened and a house elf came bustling in, carrying Harry's breakfast of ham and eggs into the room on a gold platter.

"I brought you plenty this morning, sir, seeing as how you didn't come back for dinner last night." Bilby had self appointed himself Harry's personal chef, and made it his business to make sure Harry was eating properly. Not only did he prepare the food himself, but he tested it for poison before he let Harry touch it. "In case it's been tampered with, sir," Bilby had informed him.

Harry didn't bother to question him. Bilby had made it plain that only he, Bilby, could properly ensure that Harry received adequate nutrition, probably because for the first year of his stay, Harry hadn't eaten nearly enough to keep healthy and had been hospitalized for it on two occasions. The papers and blogs had assured the public that Harry was simply so focused on bringing magic back that he forgot himself.

He thought that was a much nicer story than the truth.

Bilby sat the platter down on Harry's desk and pulled out his personal fork. He stabbed a piece of scrambled egg, sniffed it, and ate it. Bilby paused, waiting for something to happen, and when nothing did, he nodded to Harry, signaling that the food was safe to eat.

"Thanks, Bilby," Harry said. Bilby nodded and left, but not before reminding Harry to eat it before it got cold.

Harry glanced at the clock on the wall. 10:30. Five hours of sleep, anyway. Better than nothing.

The eggs were spectacular, as usual. Grander had informed Harry that he was getting the very best of the chefs when Bilby started cooking for him, and Harry had never once been disappointed.

Grander. He'd been out cold for over twelve hours now, assuming that Hannah hadn't been able to wake him up. Harry doubted it, but wouldn't put it past her. She surprised him sometimes. Hannah had taken to healing like Harry had taken to a broomstick.

Harry hastily finished his eggs. A click of the button on his wrist and he was dressed and headed to the infirmary, leaving a coin on the plate for Bilby for when he came to collect his dishes. All the house elves were paid now, Hermione would have been happy to know. Harry's coin was in addition to their regularly scheduled wages, but he always made a point to leave a coin for their troubles ever since he'd seen Grander do it the first time they'd gotten food delivered to his office.

Hannah was not pleased to see him.

"I said eight hours," she said, frowning, but she let him into Grander's room anyway.

"There's been no change," she told him, as they looked at Grander's still form, lying on his back with his hands over the covers. "If he's still out after twenty-four hours, we'll have to put him on the feeding tube."

Harry nodded. He stared at Grander's still form, trying to think of spells that he hadn't tried yet. He had become increasingly desperate the previous night when nothing seemed to be working. The spells he had planned at the time seemed foolish to him now in the light of day.

"Mr. Potter." It wasn't a question. Harry turned to see Ms. Wently, looking sternly at him over her glasses. "Good to see you up and about again. I think that it's time that you turned your attention to my granddaughter."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry rubbed his forehead. The old headache was coming back. The _very_ old headache he's thought himself rid off when he'd defeated Voldemort in his own time. With Voldemort so far away from him, it was usually easy to ignore, but it became more of a strain when he was stressed. Which seemed to be all the time lately.

"On the plus side," Harry said, "it's not the Draught of Living Death. On the down side, that means I still haven't discovered what it is."

Ms. Wently glanced through the doorway where they were standing to see her granddaughter's still sleeping form. "I see. Are you so certain that it's a potion, then? The doctors at the hospital I took her to said that she was likely under some sort of spell."

"It's entirely possible," Harry said. "That candy she ate before she went under may have been cursed. I've seen similar such candy before." What he wouldn't give to have George here to help sort this whole thing out. He'd been a master at making sweets have unexpected effects. "But that's pretty tricky magic. I think it's a lot more likely that the candy was dipped in some sort of potion. I would have bet money that it was the Draught of Living Death, but she's not responding as she should to my diagnostic spells if that were it."

"What's your next plan of action?"

"Brute force," Harry said. He walked over to a wall monitor and switched on the screen. "Gabby Terris," he said, loudly and clearly so that the stupid machine wouldn't misunderstand him.

An eighth note appeared on the screen; underneath it was the word, "Calling…"

Five seconds later Gabby's face materialized.

"Professor?"

"Gabby," Harry said, wondering if there was perhaps a more dignified way of putting it. "I need a goat."

"For a bezoar?" asked an excited voice behind her. Gayvin's face entered the picture.

Harry smiled. "Yep. Know anything about them?"

"Only what I've read," Gayvin said with a grin.

"A bezoar?" Gabby asked. "From a goat? This sounds sketchy."

Harry smiled. "Gayvin will help you. The sooner the better, please."

"It's done," Gabby said, nodding. "Have you checked on Grander today?"

Harry nodded. "Only for a couple minutes. Hannah's convinced she's got a cure if I would only let her work."

Gayvin rolled his eyes. "With Hannah's aim, I feel sorry for the guy next to him."

Harry smiled. "I'll keep an eye out. Call me when you get that goat." He turned off the intercom.

"The bezoar will catch any sort of poison," Harry told Ms. Wently. "It's entirely possible we're dealing with some sort of interaction effect." He checked his watch. 4:00. His failed attempts at helping little Elizabeth Wently had taken more time than he would have liked, with too few results.

"We can't do more until we get that stone," he told Ms. Wently. "So if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to. Please make yourself at home. I'll send an Auror to escort you wherever you'd like to go."

"I'm to have an escort?" Ms. Wently asked, looking at him askance. "For what reason?

"So you don't get lost mostly," Harry said, sounding offhanded. "But we're in a war, as I'm sure you're quite aware. I can't have people wandering around my base of operations with impunity."

She looked as though she would argue, but Harry didn't give her time. He barked the name of the Auror that he knew to be on duty in the hospital wing. "Garrot!" A young man came scurrying up. Garrot was new. He'd barely been there a month and still saw Harry as myth made flesh.

"Sir! Yes, sir?"

"At ease," Harry said, a joke that was obviously lost on the young man, as he was probably unfamiliar with Muggle army saying from a millennia ago. Garrot tensed, sensing he was missing something. "Please escort Ms. Wently wherever she wants to go," Harry said gesturing to the elderly woman, who was looking at Garrot with dislike. "You'll be her escort for the rest of the day, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Garrot said, nodding. He smiled at Ms. Wently, who did not return it.

Deciding that the formidable Ms. Wently would be sufficiently distracted with the Garrot to bear the brunt of her scrutiny, Harry headed down the hall to where Grander was being kept.

Hannah was still tending to him, recording his vitals on an hourly chart so they could monitor any changes over time.

She clearly hadn't slept all night. Her handwriting was slow and deliberate and she had to squint to read the monitor with Grander's information on it. She looked up when Harry walked in and he saw distinct bags under her eyes.

"You're off," Harry said.

"I'm fine," Hannah said, dismissively, signing her name next to her notes to let the other doctors know who to ask if they had a question. "I caught a nap a couple hours ago."

"You've got a job tonight. Or have you forgotten?"

Hannah looked at him, alarmed. It was obvious that she had.

"Food. Sleep. Report to me at 4 a.m. sharp."

"Yes, Professor," she said sheepishly, sliding the notepad into its designated slot on the wall.

"What's Randy's status?"

"He left hours ago. Good as new. Didn't get hit by any curses, so a nice salve had his arm healed not ten minutes after it went on. We kept him here overnight to make sure nothing cropped up and to give him time under observation for his body to replenish its blood supply."

"Excellent," Harry said, relieved. It would have been a difficult task indeed to replace Randy at this point.

Hannah nodded and left the room, leaving Harry alone with Grander. Harry had been trying very hard not to think about his sick friend, but now he was forced to confront the issue again.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, staring at Grander's unmoving form in consternation. It was easy to forget how much he relied on Grander's presence. The man had hardly left his side since he'd arrived in this God forsaken hellhole of a century.

Harry didn't like admitting that he had a crutch, but if he leaned on anyone, it was Grander.

"You can't stay asleep forever," Harry said harshly, glaring at Grander's sleeping form. "You'll have to wake up eventually. And you'd better make it sooner rather than later."

Pushing himself away from the door, Harry turned without looking back and opened the door, steeling himself for the evening preparation.

Grander or no Grander, the resistance wasn't going to help itself.

A/N: Please review! I'll have the next chapter posted soon! As in, actually soon, not my version of soon.


	13. Chapter 13: The Cursed

Chapter 13: The Cursed

The resistance was not looking good.

Manisa looked around the dark room at the ragtag band of followers crazy enough to try resisting Voldemort's troops. They were hurt from their recent raid. Two were dead. The Death Eaters were ruthless when it came to quelling the resistance and when Manisa's group did show themselves, the Death Eaters aimed to kill.

"We only came away with a week's supplies," Aaron said to her, his voice quiet so the others couldn't hear, but full of anger. "And that's if we're stretching it."

Manisa's jaw tightened and she nodded. Her eyes sought out the injured. Those with material wounds were mostly patched up. One of the few blessings they'd received was having the foresight to empty a local hospital before the Death Eaters had gotten there.

New York had heard reports of other cities. Rumors really, before it happened to them. Entire cities had simply fallen off the map. Families stopped hearing from relatives. Everyone started suffering from some kind of selective amnesia and not only could they not remember how to get to their loved ones, they couldn't even point to the cities on a map.

Phones went dead as soon as the numbers were dialed. Search parties never came back.

And then it hit New York.

They'd known something was happening when everyone's suits stopped functioning at once. One minute you were walking down the street, the next moment, there you were, down to your silver body suit. Every piece of technology had simply shut off. And no one could get it working again.

That's when the Death Eaters had descended. Like a plague of crows, dressed all in black and carrying those stupid wands.

Magic had ruined everything.

It was impossible to get out now. Manisa had seen enough charred corpses to know that some kind of magic was keeping them here. Locked in this city.

And then came the kicker. The Death Eaters had set up some sort of outreach program. An outreach program! They'd taken over the largest buildings in the city and turned them into their own sick version of a recruitment program. Posters appeared all over the streets overnight. "Learn magic! Come to the Empire State Building to learn more!"

"Learn more" turned out to be pledging your allegiance to the Dark Lord. Then they branded you, found your family, branded them, and you all disappeared.

And more and more people were going every day. Without their technology, and no access to the outside world, they were running out of food. And the Death Eaters were offering it. Manisa had to conduct raids constantly to keep her people fed. But their numbers were dwindling. People gave up in the night and switched sides. Others were killed in raids.

Manisa had long decided, however, that death was the kindest curse you could get if you got hit by one of those glowing jets of light. She'd had people completely lock up, their arms and legs magically glued together. As well as their teeth. Right now they were on IVs and feeding tubes, but any fool could tell they were wasting away.

At least they were quiet. Some had tentacles sprout out all over their bodies, or sores that burned and oozed yellow puss. Others had gone mad. They had to be kept tied down and gagged. Their frenzied movements and yelled nonsense were a danger to themselves and the people around them. The cursed were kept away from the others.

For five months they had lived like this. Five months. Manisa felt despair well inside her at the sight of her people. They'd fought for so long and there never seemed to be any hope. She had less every day.

They stayed hidden but there seemed little need. The Death Eaters patrolled the streets at night, but they never went into any of the buildings. What need did they have of wasting resources when their biggest weapon was time?

Manisa did the rounds. She said words of comfort to the crying, gave some of their limited food stores to the starving, and then went upstairs to her office.

Dusk light shone through her office window. It was going to be dark soon. Very dark. The moon was new and they couldn't risk candles in rooms with windows. The patrols might see them and she didn't want to give away their position. Besides, they were running low on candles.

She closed her door and sat at her desk. It was covered in papers. You had only to go next door to find something as inedible as paper. With so many deserted buildings, you could find anything you wanted, really. As long as it wasn't food.

She pulled some of the papers toward her. Maps. Death Eater movements. Likely store houses of food. She would need to look at all these in detail tomorrow. To plan their next raid.

There was a tapping at her window and she nearly jumped out of her skin. A snowy owl was hovering there quietly, its yellow eyes gleaming at her in the fading light.

Hastily she got to her feet and opened the window, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

The owl glided in and settled on her bookshelf, ruffling its wind harassed feathers. Dutifully, it held up a foot.

Tears of relief in her eyes, Manisa untied the small leather case that was bound there and popped the top off. She pulled out a piece of paper and a small cloth bag.

She unfolded the paper.

_To whom it may concern:_

_I have enclosed a small amount of powder. Tonight at midnight, please light a fire in a fireplace and sprinkle this powder into the flames. Then put my owl, Hedwig, into the fire._

_Harry Potter_

Manisa stared at paper in disbelief and read it again. And then turned it over to make sure that she hadn't missed anything.

She wanted to hit something.

The first time she had seen this owl and realized that it was Harry Potter on the other end, she had thought he would send help. Any kind of help, really. Assuming it was really him and not a Death Eater trap.

This was the stupidest message she had ever received. Put an owl into a fire? Really? And who used owls to send messages? It was the stupidest system she had ever heard of.

Medicine. Food. People. She would have expected any of these things, but not this.

The room was almost completely dark. The owl, Hedwig's, eyes glowed at her. Pushing her anger aside, she stood up. The owl flapped its wings and circled her, landing finally on her shoulder. Carrying both the piece of paper and the cloth bag, Manisa went to find Aaron and start making plans.

She felt totally exposed.

They were sending up a smoke signal, for God's sake.

She and two others had found a deserted house with a fireplace. It had been sheer luck, really. Who had fireplaces anymore? This one was clearly for decoration. The original fire had been electric. They'd pulled the glass cover off of it, and managed to get a fire started. As one of their only weapons, fire started had become something of a specialty to Manisa's band of rebels.

They'd also found think curtains to cover the windows and stuff under the doors in hopes of keeping light and sound to a minimum. Hopefully the new moon would conceal the smoke.

The two with her were an older woman named Ursula and a middle aged man named Ronald. She'd sent Aaron and a team halfway across the city to light fire to a few houses and then get out to distract the Death Eaters. They would be returning to base after they finished, in case something went wrong on Manisa's end. They couldn't leave the group without a leader and Aaron was the only other one who knew enough about their raid sites to keep the group fed.

Ursula looked at her watch. "One minute 'till. Figure we should go ahead and put the stuff on?"

They were all sweating profusely in the stuffy room. Fall had barely started yet and the fire was stifling.

Manisa shook her head. "If I'm right, all this crap is magic related. And I'm not going to go breaking the rules when magic's involved."

They were silent for about thirty more seconds.

"Midnight," Ursula said. Ronald confirmed on his watch.

"Here goes nothing," Manisa said. She pulled open the strings of the cloth bag and upended the entire contents into the flames. It burned green and sparked.

Manisa turned to the bird, which was perched on a sofa. She frowned. She hadn't considered how it was she was planning to get the bird to go into the fire.

"Er...Hedwig?" She said, thinking the name sounded ridiculous saying it out loud. "I need you to fly into the fire now."

Ronald snorted. "That's not going to work."

But it did. Hedwig blinked once at her, spread her enormous wings, and sailed directly into the flames. She vanished.

The three rebels stood in silence for a moment.

"Maybe he just wanted his bird back," Ronald said sarcastically. Manisa glared at him.

Ten minutes passed. Manisa was just starting to suspect a trap when the fire burned green again and a spinning figure appeared in it.

At first it was moving so fast that it was a blur, but gradually it slowed to a stop and a very dizzy blond girl stepped out. She was covered from head to toe in ash and looked very shaken. In one hand she held a wand. In the other, a medium sized pot.

She blinked upon seeing them. She opened her mouth to say something, but started coughing before any words came out. Manisa waited, feeling slight trepidation.

"Hannah Roaden," the girl said at last. Manisa assumed it was her name. She didn't look more than 20-years-old. "I'm a healer. And I've come to get your people out of here."

Silence followed the pronouncement.

"That's a bold statement coming from Cinderella," Ronald said, frowning.

She frowned. "This," she said, holding up the pot, "is called Floo Powder. A pinch of this will get you back through the fireplace and into Hogwarts."

"And that's magic, is it?" Ursula asked suspiciously.

Manisa's eyes landed on the fireplace. Another figure was revolving there.

"Yep," Hannah said. "For what we've been able to tell from these cities, magic's the only thing that works. If you want out, you have to play with fire."

Silence followed the pronouncement.

Another figure stumbled out of the fire. A guy. Looked about the same age as Hannah Roaden. Another revolving figure appeared.

"How long do we have?" Manisa said, addressing Hannah, but with her eyes on the newcomer.

"You can't be seriously considering this!" Ronald said, flabbergast. "Throwing our people into the fire! It could all be a Death Eater trap!"

"We don't have a choice!" Manisa snapped. "I made the decision to trust this stupid bird and I'm going through with it. It's either that or die off, one by one. If the Death Eaters don't get us, hunger will. So I repeat, how long do we have?"

"Four hours," Hannah said.

Ursula and Ronald gasped. "That's not nearly enough time!" Ursula said. "Our people are halfway across the city!"

"I don't make the rules," Hannah said. "Four hours. That's what I was told. That's what you have." A third person stumbled out, this one an older man, looking to be in his forties.

"Then we need to move," Manisa said sharply, as the man found his feet. "We'll need as many hands as possible to get the families out first. Then the wounded." She turned to Hannah. "Will you be coming?"

"Yes," Hannah said with a quick nod. "Randy can help move people." She gestured to the younger guy. "Hopefully I can do something about the wounded. Sloan,"(presumably the older man), "will stay here and protect the fire. We're prepared on the other end for victims or Death Eaters to come through, but there's nothing we can do if they decide to put the fire out."

Manisa nodded. She did not miss the danger Hannah was putting herself in to help them. If that fire went out, she was stuck here, too. "Ursula, you stay, too. If anyone walks through that door that isn't one of us, you get through that fire as fast as you can. Tell them about what our numbers look like. Any tactical information you know."

Ursula nodded. Hannah gave her a pinch of the powder from the pot and they left into the night.

It was a pitiable group, Hannah thought, looking at the group of survivors. She didn't see a single person without bandages. Even the children. But their wounds looked well cared for. Professor Potter had told her that his contact said they had plenty of medical supplies. Not a lot of doctors though, Hannah thought, seeing some shoddy workmanship among the trickier wounds. They would get them fixed up. Assuming they got out of here.

The woman who seemed to be in charge, Manisa, turned to her. "You say you're a healer? What kind of healer?"

"What kind do you need?"

"Curses," Manisa said at once. "And the people who can't walk."

"Show me where they are," Hannah said at once.

"Aaron," Manisa said. A tall, nondescript man with brown hair appeared at her shoulder. "This girl is a healer. Says she can solve our curse problem." Hannah hadn't said that. She secretly hoped that there weren't too many people out of her knowledge level. Hannah handed the pot of Floo Powder to Manisa.

Aaron nodded and gestured for Hannah to follow him.

Behind her, Hannah heard Manisa barking order and putting people into groups. Children first, it sounded like.

The people with curses were kept far away from the others, Hannah noted. They had told her this might be so when they prepped her to come. Without treatment, even the simplest of curses caused mayhem.

They reached the room and Aaron hesitated at the door, as though steeling himself. Then he opened it.

The stench was unbelievable. Hannah recoiled in disgust and gripped her wand tighter. She had never smelled anything so terrible in her life. Like spoiled meat and locker room. Mixed with the smell of something burning. Aaron moved into the room and Hannah got her first look at the cursed.

They were a sorry lot. She spotted three body-binds hooked up to IVs and feeding tubes. A crude way to keep someone alive, but effective. Tied to beds was a man who seemed to be moving uncontrollably. Something had been stuffed in his mouth to keep him quiet and he was belted to the table that he was lying on. Sores ran up and down his body that Hannah linked to the belts, which had been padded, but there's no way to protect from that kind of constant friction.

There were a dozen others. People with oozing sores. Some only looked stunned, but would require more testing to be sure. One woman's face was grotesquely deformed and her hands swollen. The burning smell seemed to be coming from a woman whose entire right side looked charred and burned.

Hannah got to work. She went for the body binds first. Simple, straightforward.

It seemed to take a moment for each person to realize that they could move again. Their muscles were probably only partially functional at this point, Hannah realized. They could have been in that state of weeks or months, every muscle in their body completely tensed up. Aaron hurried over to them to help them.

One had sat up in wonder. The other two were having much more trouble and sobbing hysterically, either from muscle pain or happiness, Hannah didn't know. She kept working.

Stunner. Stunner. Assurances. Move on. The charred woman nagged at the back of Hannah's mind. She didn't have a clue what that could be. She'd never seen anything like it.

Puss. Yuck. Hannah was careful to keep her face neutral.

"It hurts so much," one girl said, tears leaking down her face. She looked younger than Hannah. Sores covered her face and body. "More than anything. Anything I've ever felt. Please help me..."

"I'm going to try," Hannah said, hoping she sounded reassuring and not shaken to her core. "Give me your hand."

Hannah's stomach heaved when the girl did as directed, but she managed to keep it down. The girl was watching her every move. Hannah wanted to say something reassuring, but didn't trust herself to speak as puss dripped down the girl's wrist.

"Teres," Hannah managed to choke out. The skin on the hand of the girl smoothed over, the sores gone. Hannah wanted to cry in relief. "Teres! Teres!" she said again and again, healing the girls face and arms, feet and legs.

The girl was looking in wonder at her new skin, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you, thank you!"

Hannah nodded and turned to Aaron. "I doubt I got them all, but she's fit to walk. They'll take care of the rest of them at Hogwarts. And get you cleaned up," she said, speaking to the girl. Aaron motioned for the group of revived to follow him back to the main room. Some were having trouble walking, but they moved forward.

Hannah turned to the other people in the room. Her very core felt shaken and she was having trouble breathing the putrid air. Her stomach heaved and she knew she wasn't going to be able to keep it down much longer.

Moving to the corner of the room, she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor.

She wiped her mouth, her whole body shaking, clutched at the wall, forcing herself to breath in the nauseating air. She felt dizzy. She screamed at herself to move, that there were other people to help, to get out of this mess. She waved her wand to clean up her stomach contents in the corner and turned back to the room. Aaron had returned and was watching her.

Straightening up, she schooled her face into resolve and went back to her work. She was a healer, dammit.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

They had been waiting at the fire for almost an hour when someone finally came through.

It was an older woman. She was covered in ash and highly disoriented, stumbling out of the furnace, her eyes wide and fearful. Harry's recruits hurried to her aid, steadying her and moving her away from the fireplace.

Harry felt some of the tension ease out of him. If one person had made it through, that meant that his group had probably all made it through fine and that Hannah had delivered the dust.

"M-More coming!" the ash-covered woman coughed. She was looking at Harry in awe. He hated that look, but shrugged it off. He nodded to her. "We're ready," he said.

Harry felt as though his plan was sound. He'd had to recreate the Floo Network to do it, but he felt it was the safest and fastest way to move the greatest number of people. It helped that there were only two stops on the Network: The fireplace in front of him and whatever fire they'd made on the other side. Simple, easy. It would deliver any person with Floo Powder to the only other available exit.

Another figure appeared in the fireplace. It was very small. Children were next.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The leader of the resistance had separated the remaining people into families. The theory being, if one person in the family made it, they all made it. Randy was going to try very hard to make that happen.

This was made more difficult, however, by the inclusion of one of the curse victims. It was a middle aged woman who had apparently been in a full body bind since the original attack. Randy wondered why Hannah hadn't given her some kind of muscle supplement but decided not to question. Hannah would do what she could.

Manisa had decided that since the curse victims were much slower, each family group should take one, rather than taking one group of just the victims, which would almost certainly get caught by Death Eater patrols.

Randy's group included a mother and father, a teenage son, and twin girls, both looking approximately three or four years old. And the middle aged curse victim. Each group would be sent out within ten minutes of each other and group leaders would return for more people. All in all, they had about 30 people to get out of there and however many were left in the curse room.

Randy was grateful for the new moon. The streets were almost impossible to see in, which was fine for him. He had trained in darkness. It also meant that any patrol would be carrying lights with them, making them easier to see in the darkness.

They had to go five blocks to get to the house with the fireplace. Five _really_ long blocks. The family behind him was having a tough time navigating the dark, and was making more noise than they should because of it. Randy considered putting a bubble of silence around them, but decided against it. It would only reflect any light and make them a larger visual target.

But the kids were clearly having trouble. The parents had started out trying to carry them, but that had proven worse, since they required both hands, which left the parents unable to feel their way through the darkness.

They were moving too slowly, Randy realized, after it took them 20 minutes to walk a single block. They needed to pick up the pace if he was going to get them through and return for another family.

He pulled out his wand. "_Pennam!_" he whispered, tapping one of the little girls on the head. The mother made a sound in shock and reached out to pull her daughter away, but Randy had already picked her up. He held the girl out to her mother.

"I've made her light," Randy whispered. "Let her hold onto your back and put her legs around your waist. She won't weigh anything." It was a spell they used often in training to carry heavy loads, such as supplies or imitation victims, which sometimes included stunned volunteers.

The mother took her daughter carefully and made a noise in her throat upon holding her daughter. The girl giggled and crawled onto her mom's back like a monkey. Randy did the same for the other girl and gave her to her father.

"Just don't forget she's there," he warned. He turned back to their street. "_Lumos!_" he whispered to his wand. A light appeared at the end of it. Too bright. He cupped his free hand over the top of it to dim it. They continued on, making much better progress.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hannah's feet ached from two and a half hours with the victims. She was screaming in her head, the suffering of the people in front of her almost too much to bear for such a long time.

She only had three patients left. She'd left the hardest for last: the burn victim, the woman with the deformed face, and the man who was writhing uncontrollably. She had only ever treated burns with a salve before, and the other two...she'd never seen anything like it.

She approached the burn victim first. She was the one most unable to walk, Hannah decided. A diagnosis spell told her what she already knew and worse: the woman was sizzling from the outside. The curse had started superficially and worked its way from the outside to the inside, like very slow moving, yet highly corrosive, acid.

Hannah tried smoothing the skin, healing the skin as she would a cut, and, in a ditch effort she was sure someone had already tried, applied some healing ointment that the resistance had gotten from the hospital. Nothing worked. Aware that the clock was ticking, Hannah was so absorbed in her efforts that she jumped when the door to the room opened.

It was Randy.

"Hannah," he said. "I don't mean to rush you-"

Hannah got to her feet from where she had been crouching next to the burned woman. Her throat was tight and she gripped her wand so hard her knuckles stood out on her hand.

In two steps she was next to the writhing man.

"Petrificus Totalis," she said. The writhing stopped.

She flicked her wand at the charred woman and bandages flew out of the end, wrapping around the woman's right arm and leg and plastering themselves to the right side of her face.

The woman with the deformed features was getting to her feet. "Aaeek waaaaaak." she said, the words ruined in her deformed mouth.

"Does that mean you can walk?" Hannah asked bluntly. The woman nodded.

"Then let's go," Manisa's voice said. She stepped into the room behind Randy, who seemed entranced by the grotesque visage of the woman. "What are we going to do about those two?"

Manisa's matter-of-fact question snapped Randy out of his daze. He unbuckled the frozen man and, with a wave of his wand, levitated him.

"Can you walk, Beverly?" Manisa asked the woman with the burns.

She bravely got to her feet, but her burnt leg wouldn't hold her. She shook her head. Manisa looked at Randy. "Got any more tricks up your sleeve?"

"I can levitate her," he said, frowning. He had never levitated a conscious person before, but how different could it be?

"We should put her under," Hannah said bluntly. "Being levitated would be extremely disconcerting. I don't think we should take the risk that she'll call out."

"SHE," said the burned woman pointedly through her partially ruined mouth. "Would prefer to be awake. If I die out there, I want to do it with both eyes open."

Hannah hesitated as though she would argue, but then nodded. She conjured a stretcher. "Then you'll have to lie down. That will be fastest."

The woman touched the newly created stretcher with her good hand. "Manisa, did you see that?"

"I did," Manisa said, frowning. "Won't that white be highly visible?"

Randy waved his wand and the stretcher turned gray, almost black. "Now let's get moving."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Over twenty survivors had successfully come through when their good luck started to change.

A young man, looking to be in his twenties came stumbling out of the fireplace, his eyes looking wildly around. They landed on Harry and widened.

"They found us. The Death Eaters found us!"

Harry cursed under his breath. "Get him to the hospital wing," he said to a recruit standing next to him. He pulled his wand out of his pocket as the fire turned green again, another person coming through.

He would have to Apparate. He couldn't risk running into a survivor when there were no other pathways on the network to redirect him around.

"Keep them coming," Harry said. "I'll be back as soon as possible."

The poor recruits next to him looked terrified.

With a pop, he was gone.

With another, he was standing in a room with a fireplace and three terrified looking people. His man Sloan had his wand out and was standing straight backed next to the window. Shouts were coming from outside and the air buzzed with electricity as the shield that Sloan had put in place around the house was bombarded with curses.

Harry held up his hands as Sloan rounded on him with wand raised before he realized who it was.

Sloan exhaled in relief.

"We've got more than a dozen out there," he told Harry. "Hannah and Randy are bringing in the last of them. I have no idea how they're going to get through."

The light in the room flashed green as another person threw powder on the fire and stepped through.

"I'll bring them home," Harry said.


	14. Chapter 14: Delving Deeper

A/N: Another update! This chapter is longer than the previous ones. I thought maybe I should give you all a real chapter for a change. Enjoy!

Chapter 14: Delving Deeper

"You, too, Sloan," Harry said, pushing the pot with the remaining Floo Powder into his hands. "I'll get the others out some other way."

Sloan nodded, taking the pot without hesitation. He disappeared into the flames.

The house was strangely quiet and empty with the last of the survivors gone. Harry had reinforced the wards as soon as he landed and the Death Eaters had been no match for him. He knew they were out there, right beyond the reach of his wards, still trying to get in. But their attempts had lessened now.

They knew he was here. No one else in this time period had enough power to brush them aside like flies. They were leaving.

Harry didn't want to be there when they returned. No doubt they were bringing reinforcements. Harry doubted Voldemort himself would get involved, but Harry wasn't a god and there was strength in numbers.

Moving quickly and quietly, Harry extinguished the fire and crept out into the night.

Even with all of his senses on edge, he almost missed the Death Eater who was hiding in the bushes beside the house. The sparks missed Harry's head by centimeters. With a silent flick, the man was disarmed.

Terrified and cornered, the man leapt at Harry who deftly sidestepped, grabbing the man's arm and wrenching it behind his back. With his free arm, Harry tapped his wand on the top of the man's head. He slumped forward, unconscious, and Harry eased him silently to the ground.

The encounter took less than five seconds.

Keeping to the shadows, Harry circled the house, looking for his people as well as Death Eaters, unsure from which direction they would be coming. He noticed a dark figure standing before him, hooded and cloaked, surveying the house Harry had just left with wand in hand. Harry approached quietly.

A flick of Harry's wand and the man exhaled all the air from his lungs.

No air, no noise.

The man clutched his throat, raising his wand and looking around wildly.

Harry barely gave him time to move. He came up behind the man, one arm circling the man's wand arm, holdings its position to prevent a counter attack. Harry pulled the man into the shadows of the bushes of the house, using the man's own standing power to move him. It was easier than carrying dead weight. A quick tap of the wand had him stunned. Harry lowered him slowly to the ground.

Dispensing with Death Eaters was all well and good, but that was not his mission and Harry knew it. He moved back into the street, checking both ways to make sure there were no more Death Eaters within his immediate vicinity. Then he straightened up, looking around slowly, hoping that the right people would see him.

He moved quietly around the house, ears straining for sounds of movement that would signal further hostilities. A sound came from a nearby alley. Harry tensed, his wand arm ready.

"Professor!"

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Randy's head poked out from behind a nearby building. He looked relieved to see Harry. Harry moved quickly, careful to stay in the shadows. Randy had hidden them in the entryway of a house.

"Prognosis," Harry said, surveying the group that was hiding with Randy.

"Three curse victims," Randy said. "Hannah and I. One unarmed civilian."

"Manisa, I'm guessing," Harry said, turning to look the "unarmed civilian." He didn't ask his followers to speak in military style, but Randy had started doing it as a joke and it had stuck. It was explanatory, at any rate.

"That's correct," the woman said. She was strikingly tall, with dark skin and long, straight dark hair. "And you, of course, need no introduction."

Harry nodded. What was he supposed to say to that? "The fire is out," he said, moving on instead. "I'm getting you out via Portkey." From his pocket he extracted a small cloth bag. He tipped it into his palm and five marbles came out. He frowned at his lack of foresight, and looked around on the ground for something that would serve and another Portkey. Not even a rock. He shrugged it off. Seven people, five marbles. One person would have to Apparate back with him. No big deal.

He could hear voices shouting behind him. Reinforcements had come. He had to move quickly. Only a single road lay between them and the house they had used for its fireplace.

"_Portus," _Harry muttered. One of the marbles glowed slightly. Kneeling down next to one of the curse victims—a badly burned woman—Harry put the marble in her hand and closed her fingers around it. "

"It's going to be a little bumpy," Harry whispered apologetically. "But it's the best I can do."

The woman nodded. With a _whoosh_ she was gone.

"Professor!"

Harry glanced up as another marble in his hand glowed.

"They're checking side streets, sir," Randy said. "Ours is next. There's so many of them…"

_Whoosh_. Another victim was gone. "Understood. Don't let them see you, Randy."

"Yes, sir." Randy backed away from the opening.

"_Portus._" _Whoosh._

"Manisa," Harry said, pointing his wand at another marble. "You're next."

The tall woman moved forward to take it. Her fingers closed around it and her dark eyes met Harry's.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter." Then she was gone.

Final marble. Final Portkey. Harry considered briefly trying to get Hannah and Randy to share the tiny marble, but it seemed unnecessary.

"Randy," Harry said, grabbing the arm of the nearest person. "Hand."

_Whoosh_.

"You're out of marbles," Hannah observed, looking over her shoulder at him from where she was guarding the entrance.

"You'll be Apparating with me."

"You can't Apparate or Disapparate on school grounds anymore."

"No. We'll be going into Hogsmeade and walking.

Hannah nodded. "What do I have to do?" She had never Apparated before. None of them had.

"Give me your arm."

Hannah turned, holding out her wand hand. Harry looked around him to check that they hadn't forgotten anything.

An arm snaked out of the darkness and twisted around Hannah's neck, pulling her into the street with a yell.

"_Don't move_," hissed the voice. The Death Eater's wand was stabbed against Hannah's neck. Harry didn't dare raise his wand.

His mind was racing.

"Down here!" yelled the Death Eater, never taking his eyes off of Harry. "I've got one of them! You gave us a run for our money," he said more quietly to Harry. "I'm surprised you even bothered. You haven't made an appearance before."

"Let her go," Harry said, not raising his wand but taking a step forward. "You don't want her anyway. Take me. I've been needing to speak to Voldemort anyway."

"You?" sneered the Death Eater jerking Hannah back a step. "The Dark Lord has very specific instructions about you. No touching, he says. Don't capture him. Don't hurt him. Don't even look at him funny."

Anger flashed across Harry's face. "But you can hurt my people?"

"We can," said the Death Eater, a slow smile creeping across his face. Three more figures arrived, all pointing their wands at Harry. "But in truth, the Dark Lord's been positively itching to catch one alive."

"You hurt her…" Harry growled. Two more Death Eaters arrived. This was getting out of hand. He had to think, and quickly. He could only get one spell out before the Death Eaters were on him. Bigger spells that affected more people took more time to cast, so he'd only be able to take out one Death Eater if he acted offensively. And without a shield, he would be knocked unconscious in a second. Sure they couldn't lay a hand on him, but he doubted they would have any qualms about leaving him stunned in the middle of the street in a city with no help on the way. Without an inside contact, the location of the city was almost impossible to determine. The only way he wouldn't starve to death after he was stunned was if someone came and got him. And he had an inkling of who that someone might be.

And that was operating under the assumption that this Death Eater was telling the truth about Voldemort's Harry Potter policy.

Casting a defensive spell would save him but leave Hannah vulnerable to an attack, which he did not doubt they would make.

More Death Eaters were arriving. There seemed to be some kind of commotion.

"Perry's here! Let him through!" A man with white blond hair that looked almost dark next to his very pale skin was making his way through the crowd.

Harry had an idea. His eyes met Hannah's. Keeping his face carefully neutral, he used the commotion of this arriving "Perry" person to mutter quietly under his breath. His wand, still carefully pointed at the ground, began to warm beneath his fingertips.

The ground began to rumble. Then shake violently. Yells of surprise came from the crowd of Death Eaters and their spells shot off wildly as the shaking ground made them lose their aim. Harry dived to the side, pointing his wand into the crowd.

Like the Red Sea parting, the swarm of Death Eaters fell to one side or the other of the blast. Harry could see Hannah reacting the fastest, as she had been trained. The wand arm of the Death Eater holding her had been flung back to cushion his fall, but his other arm was still locked on tight.

Hannah grabbed the arm that was still locked around her neck with one arm and pulled it down, holding it to her. With the other arm, she sent a swift elbow to the man's sternum.

His grip loosened and she put her thumb and forefinger on both sides of the man's hand, digging her nails into a pressure point. As his grip relaxed entirely, she pulled his arm up behind him, and rammed her elbow into the back of his spine.

He fell like a sack of potatoes.

Freeing herself had taken time, and the other Death Eaters were beginning to move, but Harry was keeping them at bay. Careful stunners were dropping them like flies, but the still shaking earth was making a large attack impossible. Any wrong move and Hannah would turn into collateral damage.

Hannah made her way through (and sometimes over) the jostling bodies. She was close to Harry.

He reached out a hand to her, preparing to Apparate.

A pale hand grabbed her ankle and she tumbled to the ground, hitting it hard. The Death Eater they had called Perry had been knocked to the ground, but had not lost sight of his target.

Hannah's eyes widened in shock as Harry took the last few steps toward her.

CRACK!

The ground was empty. Hannah was gone.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hogwarts was in an uproar.

Refugees they had planned for, but they had not been expecting the call from Harry saying that he needed twenty Aurors in Hogsmeade immediately. Apparently he had taken prisoners.

Harry gazed at the fifteen Death Eaters that he had brought back with him, illuminated now in the morning light that came with the Trans-Atlantic time change. It had been easy enough to blow the lot of them off their feet after Hannah was out of the crossfire. The shaking ground had ensured that no one was in a good position to defend themselves.

One of the Death Eaters groaned and shook his head. Harry found anger and frustration rising in him again. He wanted to kick something.

No. He wanted to pick a random Death Eater and tear his heart out.

Harry forced the anger back down. The Aurors would be here soon. And they would take the Death Eaters and put them away in the dungeon where Harry could deal with them when he'd calmed down.

Harry stared at the wands at his feet. He'd tied them all together in a stack. Now they looked like so many useless twigs. Everything around him looked cheap and tasteless.

He had not been kind to the Death Eaters and they looked the worse for wear. Some of their injuries may even require immediate attention. They were mostly unconscious now, whether from stunners or their injuries, Harry didn't know. They would live, though.

The Aurors finally made it into Hogsmeade, their wands raised in caution, but lowered when they saw the state of the Death Eaters.

"Whoa!"

It was Randy.

"You don't do anything half way, do you?" Randy said, grinning. "I'm glad you're on my side."

Harry didn't answer. Randy seemed to sense that something was wrong. He looked around.

"Where's Hannah?"

No response.

"Professor, what happened to Hannah?" Randy was sounding definitely concerned now, and was not helping the other Aurors levitate the prisoners back to the castle.

Harry forced himself to meet Randy's eyes and he saw comprehension dawn there.

"She didn't make it out," Randy said, his voice hoarse. "She didn't make it back."

"They Apparated her away," Harry said, repulsed at how unfeeling his own voice sounded. "I'm sorry, Randy. There was nothing I could do."

Randy covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath before lowering them. He looked as though he wanted say more, but decided against it. He turned away, pulling out his wand and running to where the last of the Death Eaters were being levitated. He didn't look back.

Harry watched them go but did not follow. He would let Randy tell them.

Hannah Roaden. The first of his Aurors to leave and not come back.

His first instinct had been to launch a rescue mission, but he didn't even know where to start. Wherever Voldemort was hiding away, he was hiding very well. Even if Harry _did _know where his rival was hiding, he still couldn't be sure that was where she was taken, where she would be within the building, or what he was up against trying to get in and out.

No. He would have to wait. Perhaps Voldemort would take some of Harry's captives in trade. Whatever he wanted, Voldemort was going to have to make the first move. Unless by some miracle Harry's spies were able to uncover something of importance.

Harry closed his eyes and let the morning sun wash over him, trying to will his frustration away. Why hadn't he seen that man coming? He should have Apparated out of there the second the others had left via the Portkeys.

_I didn't exactly wait though, did I? _Harry thought angrily. _There wasn't more than twenty seconds between when I sent Randy off and when Hannah got snagged._

Twenty seconds too long, it would seem.

Grander would tell Harry that it wasn't his fault. That there was nothing more that Harry could do. Harry wouldn't have believed him, but it would have been nice to have someone to talk to.

But the Death Eaters had stolen Grander from Harry, too.

Like they had stolen his parents, Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Fred, Dumbledore, and so many others.

Harry felt anger rise in him to the point where it seemed to be clawing to find a way out. But Grander wasn't dead, was he?

Harry turned on his heal and marched back to the castle, as fast as his feet would carry him.

Grander was waking up.

Now.

He marched past the Aurors making their slow way back to the castle with their prisoners. Some were chatting, others were rather subdued. Apparently Randy hadn't yet informed everyone of Hannah's disappearance.

The noise died down as Harry swept past. All of Harry's troops had seen him angry before. You couldn't train an army without losing your temper a few times.

But none of them had seen him like this. He seemed to exude an aura of barely contained fury. Those who hadn't realized that someone was wrong quickly came to their senses.

Refugees were being led to their rooms as Harry climbed the stairs. Several of them moved towards him thankfully, but none took more than a step before realizing that now was not the time. No one spoke a word to him until he reached the hospital wing.

"Professor!" said the healers in relief when he opened the door. "We've been having some trouble trying to decide—"

Harry held up his hand. "Grander. Now."

The woman looked taken aback by his abruptness but recovered quickly, leading the way to Grander's room, which had been moved to the end of the hall.

"Thank you. Please leave," Harry said when they entered the room.

The woman frowned slightly, but obliged.

"Time to wake up, Grander," Harry said. He stood next to Grander's bed and placed his hands on either side of Grander's face. It was surprisingly cold.

He closed his eyes.

Harry had never been good at Occlumency. It had been required for Auror training, but he'd never truly gotten the hang of it.

Legilimency, however. That had proven to be a different story.

Especially when the person into whose mind he was delving was unconscious and had no barriers to fight against.

Harry skimmed Grander's mind for surface level thoughts but found none. This was expected in an unconscious state. He prodded a little deeper, feeling himself being filled with Grander's anxiety. Clearly he was not sleeping peacefully.

Harry drew in a breath and carefully plunged deeper. Images flashed before his eyes, images of the library, of flashes of light. Harry felt Grander's fear rise within himself, but pushed it back, no match for his own anger and frustration.

Grander's heart began to beat faster.

Harry knew that getting in Grander's head wasn't enough. He needed to get _inside _his head. He needed to physically fight off the spell.

He had been unwilling to try earlier, unwilling to put himself at such great risk if there was another way. Because if he failed, he would be caught under the spell as well.

He's leave the worrying for someone else. All he knew was that he had lost something to Voldemort that night. And he fully intended to take something back. Grander.

Harry opened his eyes and spoke.

" _Legilimens!_"

Harry's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped forward onto Grander's unconscious form.

…

…

…

Harry sat up slowly, clutching his head. His vision was spotted, filled with undistinguished blurs and dark spots. His head felt light and dizzy.

Someone grabbed him from behind, dragging him by the armpits. He barely had time to register what was happening when he was dropped again.

Harry, still highly disoriented from his travels, fumbled for his wand and his feet.

"_Sit_," hissed a voice. Hands on his shoulders forced him back down. "You're incredibly foolish for coming in the first place."

"Is that who I think it is?" asked a small voice. A child.

"Yeah, the idiot," said the first voice. "Fat lot of good it does us." Harry recognized it now.

"Grander? Where are we?"

"Same place we've been for a while now. In this God forsaken library."

Harry gave his head a shake, trying to shake off his disorientation. He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. Then opened them again. The world seemed slightly less all over the place. He was able to focus on his two companions.

Grander looked slightly disheveled, but otherwise fine. Harry's eyes landed on the third person in their group.

"_Elizabeth Wently?_"

The girl gave a small smile. She was wearing a dressing gown and looked very small. "Hello."

"She's the granddaughter of that Joanne Wently woman. And this," Grander motioned around. "Is their library."

"What are we doing here?" Harry asked. He carefully got to his feet. They weren't whispering, which made him think that they weren't in immediate danger, but something about the library was making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Hell if I know!" Grander snapped. He took a deep breath, calming himself. "Sorry, I'm feeling rather frustrated for some reason."

Harry had to smile. "My fault. _I _was feeling angry and frustrated."

"Well, keep your emotions to yourself," Grander said sourly.

Harry nodded. Then he smiled wider. "God it's good to see you again."

Grander grinned, too. "It's good to see you, too."

Harry pulled Grander into a hug. "I think I was going mad," he admitted.

"I don't doubt that," Grander said wryly, thumping him on the back, then pulling back to look at him. "You look terrible."

"A lot's happened."

"How long have I been gone?"

Harry frowned, thinking. "About a day."

Grander raised his eyebrows. "How much can possibly happen in a _day?_"

"Raid," Harry said, shaking his head. "They have Hannah."

Grander's face tightened. Then he shook his head. "Not that that's important now. They've got _you_ now."

This jerked Harry back to the present. He looked around him. "Where are we exactly?"

"In the library!" Elizabeth chirped up unhelpfully. "My _grandma's_ library."

Harry focused on Elizabeth, frowning. "And why are you here?"

"I've always been here," Elizabeth said, shrugging. "For ages and ages now."

"You never even saw her," Harry said to Grander, taking a step back to get a better look at the pair of them. "How could you possibly have dreamed her up? She's exact in every detail." He knelt down in front of Elizabeth, who looked embarrassed to be put on display. "Except younger. By years, I would guess. She was here when you got here?"

"Yep," Grander said. "She told me that she's been wondering around here ages and ages. It's very hard to tell time when you're here. Sometimes I feel like I just got here. Other times I think I've been here for months. A _day_," he shook his head incredulously. "That would not have been my first guess."

"Elizabeth," Harry said, still studying her. "How old areyou?"

"Seven," Elizabeth told him, holding up seven fingers.

Harry nodded, understanding. The child that he had transported to Hogwarts had looked more like eleven or twelve. Apparently the spell did not stop the aging process.

Assuming that Elizabeth was who she said she was.

"This place," Harry said, straightening up and directing his question at both Grander and Elizabeth. "Is it deserted? Have you seen anyone else here?"

Grander shook his head, but Elizabeth piped up. "Yes!"

"Other than us?" Harry qualified, thinking that he had misspoken.

But Elizabeth was still nodding. "There's a nice man that comes sometimes. It's always lighter when he's here. He always comes and talks to me. Sometimes he brings cookies. You don't have any cookies, do you?" she asked hopefully, eyeing Harry's outfit.

"No, I'm afraid I don't," Harry said, "What did this man look like?"

"He's very tall," she said unhelpfully. Doubtlessly any man looked tall to tiny Elizabeth. "And he's very nice."

Harry felt suspicion rising in him. "He looks normal? Eyes? Hair? Skin? There's nothing strange about him? He wasn't particularly pale? Red eyes?"

Elizabeth giggled. "You're silly."

Harry and Grander exchanged looks.

"It doesn't sound like Voldemort," Harry said quietly to Grander. "But that doesn't mean it isn't. We should get out of here as soon as possible."

"I completely agree with you," Grander said. "How?"

Harry looked around again, this time looking for some clue as to how to get in or out. All of the shelves rose infinitely high into the air. He scanned the books themselves and found all the titles to be written in a script that he didn't understand. He pulled one out and flipped it open. It was blank. He slid it back into its place. An idea was beginning to form. "These shelves, how far do they extend?"

Grander shook his head. "Infinite, as far as I can tell. Elizabeth says she's walked and walked and hasn't gotten anywhere."

"All libraries seem infinite to children," Harry said thoughtfully. "Elizabeth, have you always been in this library?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I was in the living room for a while."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense. That was where you were knocked out. How did you get here?"

"I don't remember being knocked out," Elizabeth said frowning. "I think I would remember."

"I don't remember being knocked out either," Grander said kindly. "It happens very quickly, I think."

"I need to know how you came to be in the library," Harry said patiently. He'd forgotten how distracted children could get.

"I just came in," Elizabeth said with a shrug. "Through the door."

"Can you find the door again?" Harry asked.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Maybe. But I always get lost in the library. Grandma _always _has to come get me."

"I think I hear her now," Harry said, looking around. "Yes, that's her calling you!"

"_Elizabeth!_" came a call. Grander gaped at him. Elizabeth squealed in delight.

"Grandma!" She started running through the shelves.

"Don't lose her!" Harry said quickly.

"What did you do?" Grander asked, looking slightly angry. "That's not her grandmother, is it? You tricked her!"

Harry shook his head. "This whole world," he said gesturing around. "is a product of Elizabeth. She's built it up, stack by stack during the last five years. Nothing can happen here that she can't explain. She's created this world. We can control small things, but nothing big. Nothing that goes against what Elizabeth wants or expects."

They spun around another stack of shelves.

Grander was trying to wrap his head around the idea. "How can she create something like this?"

"It's a dream world," Harry explained. "Have you ever had a dream where you realize that it's a dream? And you tried to control what happened, but couldn't really?"

Grander nodded, still looking suspicious.

"Some people _can _learn to control what happens. It takes practice, though. And Elizabeth has had five years of practice, whether she knows she's dreaming or not."

They skidded to a stop. They had arrived at a large oak door. Elizabeth was looking hurt and confused.

"Grandma?" she asked, putting her hand on the door. "Where are you?"

Harry, who had only been thinking about escape, suddenly felt like the biggest ass on the planet.

Elizabeth fell to her knees, tears filling her eyes. "I _heard _you, Grandma," she whispered. "Why did you leave?"

Grander moved forward to comfort the girl, but stopped when the door slowly creaked open.

Elizabeth's head shot up. "Grandma?" she called, climbing to her feet.

Harry was instantly suspicious. If Elizabeth had not opened the door, and none of them had opened the door, then who did?

"Elizabeth, wait," he said quickly. Elizabeth didn't listen. She didn't have to. This was her world, not his. She pushed open the door and disappeared through it.

Harry and Grander quickly followed. They found themselves in a hallway, but Elizabeth had broken out into a run and was already turning the corner.

"I don't like this," Grander said as they rounded the corner, only to see Elizabeth speed off again.

"Join the club," Harry said. He sped up, only to turn another corner. He didn't remember the house having this many hallways, but this was a dream world, and things were fluid here.

One door was open and Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Harry came to a stop and Grander stopped beside him, huffing and puffing.

"I'm not as in shape as you are," Grander said apologetically.

"Choose not to be tired," Harry said vaguely. His attention was focused on the door.

"Sorry?"

"It's a dream world," Harry told him, taking a step towards the door. "Things happen because you will it here."

"I don't think it works that way," Grander said, still taking deep breaths. He was making an unfortunate amount of noise.

"I'll fix it," Harry said. He placed a hand on Grander's chest and the next second Grander was fine.

"Thanks," Grander said, breathing deeply.

Harry would have told him that he hadn't really done anything at all, that he'd simply pretended to do something and that Grander's belief that he could help had done the rest, but he had other things to deal with.

Harry approached the door slowly, his hand on his wand. Grander followed, but kept well back. He was a scholar, not an Auror.

Harry heard words floating through the open door.

"—_two _people here now! One of them looks just like _Harry Potter!"_

Wand at the ready, Harry turned into the doorway. He didn't blink at what he saw.

"Come over here, Elizabeth," he said quietly. "Come towards me."

"This is the nice man I was talking about!" Elizabeth said excitedly. She looked up at him adoringly. "I _told _you he looked _just _like Harry Potter!"

The man did not look down. He was smiling at Harry.

"Hello, Harry," he said. "How very good to see you again after all these years."

Harry was looking at the spitting image of Tom Marvolo Riddle.


	15. Chapter 15: Revelations

A/N: Yes, yes. I know it's been forever...

Chapter 15: Revelations

"Elizabeth, you need to come to me," Harry said, keeping his wand ready but holding out his hand.

"Harry!" Grander hissed from behind him. "What's going on?"

"I think we need some privacy, don't you?" Voldemort, in the image of his younger self, waved a hand. All noise behind Harry vanished. Harry risked a look back. Grander was gone.

"If anything's happened to him—" Harry snarled.

"_Relax_," Voldemort said, smiling slightly. "I haven't come all this way to kill your favorite pet." He looked down at Elizabeth, who was watching the exchange with confusion. "What about you, Lizzy? Ready to go home?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened. She gave a very small nod, as though she couldn't believe it. Voldemort placed a hand on her head. The next second her eyes rolled back and she started to fall. Voldemort caught her and lowered her to the floor, where she vanished.

Voldemort straightened and went to sit down. Harry hadn't noticed the chair before. He hadn't noticed much of the room, truth be told, but he was fairly sure that the chair was new. They seemed to be in some sort of sitting room, with bookshelves full of interesting trinkets lining the beige walls. Heavy curtains framed windows that looked out onto nothing, just an endless white expanse.

"Please, sit down. I've been waiting an extraordinarily long time for you to get here."

Harry's attention landed on a chair that was now suddenly at an angle, as though someone had pulled it out for him.

"You can put that wand away. I'll admit, I find your vigilance flattering, if entirely unnecessary."

"You'll forgive me if I find very little reason to trust you," Harry said coldly.

Voldemort waved a hand dismissively. "Times have changed, my dear boy, in case you haven't noticed. I haven't gone through the trouble of getting you here only to kill you. What would be my motive? Anger over an ancient and now meaningless feud?" When Harry didn't look convinced, Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "The way I see it, you have two options. You can stand there forever with your wand pointed at me—a meaningless gesture, as the wand has no power here that the mind does not—or you can sit down and we can discuss my proposition like grownups."

Harry felt anger rise in him. He _hated _being treated like a child. He was the same age as Voldemort, if not older by this point. Voldemort could see the anger flare in Harry's eyes and smiled. The jab had been calculated.

He did not notice immediately, but at Voldemort's words, Harry seemed to age visibly. Without consciously maintaining his youthful appearance, the dream world allowed him to resume his own mental image of himself, as an older man, well past one hundred years of age.

Reluctantly, Harry lowered his wand. But he did not sit. "What proposition could you possibly have thought up this time?" he asked coldly. He was faintly surprised to hear such a deep voice exit his throat, but it made sense to him. Strangely, he felt as though a weight had been lifted.

Voldemort did no more than glance at Harry's new appearance before pouring himself a cup of tea from a pot that most certainly hadn't been there before. He poured another for Harry. It vanished and appeared in front of Harry's proffered chair. "Please, sit."

Feeling that no information would be forthcoming before he sat in the blasted chair, Harry finally sat. In a final gesture of defiance, he left his tea untouched. Voldemort did not comment.

"It was no easy task getting you here, you know," Voldemort said vaguely, gesturing around. "I mean, I knew that putting little Elizabeth under so early in the game would require an extended period of wait, but I thought perhaps a year at most. Certainly not five. I was beginning to wonder if you would never think of going to get the books. And I had my minions place the advertisement so prominently on the internet." He sipped his tea.

"Finally I worried that you wouldn't put yourself at such risk for a girl that you'd never met, especially as she grew older and lost some of her 'lost child' appeal. I was forced to sweeten the pot."

"Grander," Harry growled.

"And voila!" Voldemort said, raising a hand in the air. "Here you are, less than twenty four hours later. Like magic."

Harry glowered at him.

"You get so attached to these people," Voldemort mused. "You just open yourself up to these types of things. I wonder that you maintain such an obvious weakness after all these years."

"Friends aren't a weakness, Voldemort," Harry said coldly. "Though you've never understood that. I'm not surprised to see you still scratching your head over it. I pity you, but I am not surprised."

"Would you have me make friends with rats?" Voldemort asked, raising his eyebrows. "And yet because of these rodents you've placed yourself entirely at my mercy. You can't honestly think," he smiled over his tea. "That you can beat me in a battle of the _minds._"

Outside, the white world became a roiling mass of black clouds, surrounding the space as though they were in an airplane in the middle of a lightning storm. Lightning flashed, illuminating the suddenly darkened room as Harry and Voldemort matched stares.

"You've got a lot to learn if you think a light show is enough to intimidate me," Harry said coolly. "And you've brought me here to speak of more than just a hypothetical battle of the minds."

"Quite right," Voldemort said airily. The lightning stopped, but the clouds outside continued to boil. Harry eyed them curiously but said nothing. Voldemort put down his tea and leaned back in his chair. "I am proposing an alliance."

Harry snorted. "You've gone senile in your old age, Voldemort. For what reason would I ever form an alliance with you? And who against? Surely you've not gone and started a war with New Brazil."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side. "Against technology. I've declared the same war that you have."

Harry laughed. "A war against _technology_? Why not just declare war against the whole damn _world?_"

Voldemort frowned. "Of course we've declared war on the world. Why else have you been teaching magic? Why else have we been trying to save these fools from themselves?"

"To defend against _you_," Harry said, frowning.

Voldemort was silent for a moment, his cold eyes staring very hard at Harry. "Let us be perfectly clear, Harry. If I was not here and you had simply awoken to find yourself in this time period, with its moving sidewalks and its electronic people—so completely devoid of magic that it is no different from the world of Muggles—you would be doing _exactly _the same thing that you are doing now."

Harry frowned, thinking over Voldemort's words. He was not so prideful that he could not see the truth in them.

Voldemort saw Harry's understanding in his eyes and he nodded abruptly. He stood up and walked to the window. "You cannot be lifted from the world of drudgery into the world of magic, and not feel that way. We are much the same, you and I."

Harry stared hard at Voldemort. There was something different about him. Something extraordinarily different.

Outside the world had resumed its white wash.

"I propose an end to hostilities," Voldemort said, his back still turned to Harry.

"I would love an end to hostilities," Harry said carefully. "But I think that we have different definitions of that term."

Voldemort turned to look at him, his hands clasped behind his back. "I'm sure that you're aware of my policies. No murder. No torture."

"Only forced compliance?" Harry said coldly. "Curse or be cursed? I've seen your handiwork first hand."

Voldemort waved a hand dismissively. "They made the choice, not I. You can only _lead_ a horse to water, after all."

"There will be those who do not choose magic," Harry said. "You can't force them."

"There is no place for them in our new world."

"_Our _new world?" Harry shot. "Try y_our _new world."

"Their minds have been poisoned," Voldemort said. Behind him the white world was darkening again. "The Muggles have left their taint on this world, however much they no longer live in it. There are more than enough people willing to make the switch that the opinions of a very small minority are meaningless."

"Not to me."

Voldemort's eyes flashed. "Compromises will have to be made, Harry."

"On both sides, Tom."

"I have bargaining chips," Voldemort said threateningly.

"I expect Ms. Roaden to be returned to me as a gesture of goodwill," Harry said coldly.

Voldemort frowned and was silent for a moment, surveying Harry closely. He had clearly not expected the blunt demand. "Of course," he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair and wrapping his thin fingers around the ends of the armrest. "But there is more on the table here than you realize."

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Voldemort was staring at him very intently.

"Do you know why you are here, Harry Potter?"

Harry was silent, his wrinkled eyes narrowed, trying and failing to read Voldemort's expressionless face. He knew instinctively that Voldemort was not talking about the room they were sitting in.

"Dark magic," Harry said quietly, the words scratching his throat as they came up. Yes, he had long ago discovered what had brought him back. "Magic of death and fire."

Voldemort's thin lips curled into a smile and he leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Harry's. "I am a _perversion_." He said the word softly, caressingly, as though it were a title or a bestowed honor. "Everything about me is against nature. What is dead should stay _dead_, Harry Potter."

Harry rose to his feet angrily. "This is _your _doing, Voldemort. None of mine. My presence here cannot be helped. It was entirely unasked for."

"When I arrived on this earth," Voldemort said, examining his own fingers and ignoring Harry's comment. "I found myself weakened. My body and mind were built around the soul of another. It has taken years to return me to my full power. Imagine my surprise to have you crop up. Fully intact. Strong. As soon as you sprouted out of the ground. Obviously, I was intrigued."

"No follower of mine would think to summon me through the blood of another," Harry said, his voice icy. His wrinkled hands curling into fists at his sides. "That much I know."

"Please sit, Mr. Potter," Voldemort said, the smile returning to his face. "There's no need to get angry. I'm merely reciting history. It changes nothing."

"I do wish you would have the courtesy to come to a _point_," Harry said, refusing to sit. "You've gone through a great deal of effort to get me here. Surely it's not simply to talk about what is past."

"I am a perversion, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, rising to his feet and staring at Harry very intently. "_You _are not. You have come through the fires of rebirth entirely untainted by the magic which brought you here." His voice lowered, but his eyes did not lose their intensity. "I know _exactly _how you came back, Harry. And I can bring back _more_."

Harry felt a chill rising inside him. He and Voldemort matched stares, each measuring up the other, searching for clues into the other's thoughts. Harry spoke.

"Your Death Eaters, I suppose?"

Voldemort laughed, breaking the power of the moment. "The thought had occurred to me," he said smiling. "But to what end? They mean nothing to me and would only cause trouble. In this world they would be gods. None of them could resist the lure. No, Mr. Potter, I'm not making a threat. I'm making an _offer_."

Shock hit Harry like a tidal wave. An _offer_? Voldemort couldn't possibly mean…

"Your wife, Harry. Your children. Your friends. Any of them. All of them. Pure. Untainted. Young. Just like you remember them." Voldemort left the words sink in. Harry said nothing. Voldemort's eyes continued to study Harry.

"But you would have to do something for me in return."

"I don't make deals with devils," Harry said coldly.

"I think we're beyond name calling," Voldemort said, raising his eyebrows. "I'm offering to give you your pathetic _life _back."

"It's impossible," Harry said, giving a brief, quick shake of his head. "More would have to die and anyone you brought back would live half lives."

"You're not living a half life," Voldemort pointed out, raising his eyebrows. He sat back down and pulled his tea towards him. He sat back and looked up at Harry through the steam rising from his cup. "I can bring them back. No deaths. No black magic. No tricks. They would be fully restored."

"Impossible."

"That's the second time you've used that word," Voldemort said coolly. "I think you should revise your definition." A self-satisfied smirk flitted across his face. "'Improbable' would be the more exact term. And I am well known for being fully versed in the highly improbable."

Harry did not answer—part of him raging with hope that warred with his suspicion and disbelief.

"The price is more than acceptable, I assure you," Voldemort said.

"An alliance with you," Harry guessed.

"Think about it," Voldemort said, raising his eyebrows, as though Harry's tone was unreasonable. "You'd have very little to do in this alliance. I simply tire of our useless façade. We waste time fighting each other when we have a common enemy."

"Your offer seems overly generous," Harry said, frowning. He was missing something and he knew it. His Auror senses told him that he held some card that Voldemort was very much afraid of.

Fog was filling the room, swirling around Harry's ankles and making its way up the back of Voldemort's chair.

"Think about it," Voldemort said simply. Tendrils of fog snaked over his arms. "Send one of my Death Eaters back when you have an answer. When you do, I'll send Ms. Roaden back to you, accompanied by whomever you'd like."

Thick fog covered him, and Harry found himself staring at only whiteness. Somewhere a light seemed to be going off and darkness was descending.

Harry did not move, his eyes still locked on the spot that had previously held Voldemort. Suddenly an incredulous smile crept onto his face. He tilted his head back and laughed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Grander snapped awake, his sore neck protesting at being held at such an odd angle for hours as he'd slept in the chair the nurse had provided.

He ignored it.

Laughter filled the room. It sounded harsh and biting. Grander had never heard it coming from this particular person before.

"Harry?" he said cautiously, wide awake and ill at ease.

The figure on the bed in the darkened room in front of him was shaking with laughter.

"Lights," Grander said.

The laughter was interrupted as the room flooded with light. Harry had thrown an arm over his face to shield his eyes from the harsh glare. He was breathing heavily.

Suddenly he sat up and looked around, blinking. His face was confused.

"Harry?" Grander asked again, still uncertain. "Is that you?"

Harry's eyes focused on him. He squinted, then reached to the bedside table for his glasses. He refocused on Grander. "Ah!" he said, as though the eerie laughter from before had never happened. "You're awake."

"For a while now," Grander said, still feeling off balance. "You've been under for hours."

Harry swung his legs over the side of the table and got to his feet. He began pacing back and forth across the narrow stretch of hospital room floor.

"What happened?" Grander asked, getting to his feet as well. His body protested loudly, reminding him that he'd been sitting, unmoving, for hours as well. "Who was that man in that room?"

"Voldemort," Harry said, a smile touching his lips again—an unexpected reaction in Grander's opinion. "He was looking to make an alliance of some sort," he waved a hand dismissively. "But that's not the interesting part. Not by a long shot. You didn't see—" He looked up suddenly. "Has Elizabeth woken up?"

Grander's widened, then he shook his head incredulously, "I should have known that you'd already know. Woke up a few minutes after I did. Her grandmother is with her now."

"Good," Harry said, nodding sharply. "We've still got to get Hannah back."

"It's on the list," Grander said. "But we can discuss that in a moment. First tell me what you've discovered."

Harry stopped his pacing and looked at Grander. Then he frowned. "How are you? You just woke up. You've been out for a while."

"Fine," Grander said, shrugging. "No lasting damage. Are you deliberately avoiding my questions?"

"Yes," Harry said, "Well, not because I don't want to tell you. I just want to be sure. But I'm pretty _damn _sure."

"There's nothing in the history books about you talking in riddles. Why start now?"

"Riddles," Harry repeated, trying the word. Then he laughed again. Grander looked at him incredulous.

"Should I get a nurse?"

"No, no," Harry said, holding up a hand. Then he held his hand in front of his face and frowned slightly. He shook his head and focused back in on Grander. "Riddles. _Riddle._ _That's _who you saw in there."

"You said it wasVoldemort," Grander said, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. "What did he want?"

"Not Voldemort," Harry said, looking at Grander meaningfully. There was a strange, restless energy about him that Grander never remembered seeing before. "_Riddle._ At first I thought he didn't want to scare Elizabeth, but he never changed his form. Even after I did. He _wanted _to look like that."

"Interesting," Grander said, still not understanding the significance.

"Why wouldn't he want to look like himself? He went through a lot of effort to look like that," Harry said. He looked at Grander expectantly. Grander felt like a student that didn't know the right answer.

"Because he doesn't like what he looks like anymore? I don't know."

"_Because he doesn't like what he looks like anymore_," Harry repeated, his eyes shining with intensity. Apparently Grander had gotten the right answer. "Voldemort's changed, Grander. I mean, I knew he had. I just didn't realize by how much. And I couldn't really understand how he'd returned, so I couldn't possibly have known. But damned if he didn't come right out and _say _it."

Grander was interested now. He'd spent many sleepless nights trying to understand how Voldemort had managed to bring himself back despite all logic.

"Mr. Potter?"

The door opened and a very relieved looking nurse came in. "Oh, thank God. We were having a time without you."

"Oh, the refuges," Harry said, blinking. "I forgot."

The nurse looked at him incredulously.

"I'll be right there," Harry assured him. The nurse nodded and hurried out, probably back to whatever patient he was tending. Harry turned to Grander, the light returning to his eyes. Grander hadn't seen his friend so happy in all the years he'd known him. "Grander. They took his last remaining essence and grafted them onto someone else's _soul_."

The words sat in the room for a moment as Grander digested. Despite Harry's mood, Grander did not find the revelation altogether pleasing. "That man they found in the graveyard…"

"Probably his," Harry acknowledged. "But Grander, you're missing the point."

"There's a larger point than that?"

"A soul, Grander," Harry said, the light in his eyes almost feverish. "Voldemort's got a soul."


End file.
